The Curse of Kalashki
by Robot from the future
Summary: Vince falls foul of an ancient Shaman's curse meaning the thing he can't live without is killing him. Will Naboo be able to find a cure before it is too late? Possible character death, angst and Howince. Rated M for language and slash
1. 1 in a million

"Tell me again?" Vince asked, confused. After Howard had retrieved the rogue jazz cell from his body, Naboo had soon become concerned that he wasn't recovering as well as he should have been and whisked him upstairs to the flat to run some tests.

Naboo put down the thermometer he had been holding and looked at Vince patiently.

"It's Shaman law, the curse of Kalashki," he lisped. "If someone saves your life once, the curse rules that you become their best friend. However, if they save your life a second time, maybe it isn't such a good idea that you are together. So you. …can't be. Ever again. I'm so sorry Vince, if I'd even suspected, I'd have sent Bollo in just now. It's so rare - I've not seen a case of it in decades. It's a one in a million chance"

Naboo hung his head for a moment, clearly blaming himself for Vince's current predicament. Vince scowled, pulling the blood pressure cuff from his arm,

"I still don't understand. So Howard saved my life earlier by getting that Jazzy freak out of my body. That's only the once isn't it? And he's already my best friend. He has been since we were kids"

Naboo pulled his crystal ball out of his robes and blew it up.

"Yeah, I've been wondering about that too," he said, gazing into its misty surface. After a few moments he looked up, satisfied,

"It says here that Howard saved your life when you were nine. You were going to step out in front of a car but he pushed you out of the way,"

"I was distracted, I'd just figured out the best way to customise my school tie! And besides, I'm still not convinced about this law. It's not seemed to have affected Howard all those times I saved his life,"

Naboo once again consulted the crystal ball,

"Apparently you never saved his life. He could have always found some way out of it,"

"What about monkey hell?" Vince spluttered,

"It looks like he would've found a loophole in the paperwork,"

Vince shook his head, thinking of the countless times he thought he had saved Howard's life – in the boxing ring, rescuing him from old Gregg - he would've been ok. Maybe it would be good to let Howard take control now and again.

"So how are we going to get around this one then Naboo?" he asked brightly, as the tiny shaman packed away the crystal ball.

"Sorry, no can do. The rules are quite strict on this. If you stick with Howard you're going to die a slow and painful death. It's like he's poison to you now"

"The perfume? I know it's gross but maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe even better than he smells now, sort of musty like a museum," Vince babbled. Naboo noticed that Vince wasn't able to meet his eye and wondered, not for the first time, whether Vince was as dumb as he made out.

"No," he explained, giving him the benefit of the doubt, "Like actual poison. As in being around him will kill you. One of you is going to have to leave,"

At that point Bollo lumbered in, carrying Naboo's hookah and Vince sensed it was time to leave them to it; after all, his brain cell had a lot to process. He was nearly out the door when Naboo called after him

"Oh and you can't tell Howard any of this"

Vince raised an eyebrow "Shaman law?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, I just cant be bothered explaining this all over again to that ballbag"

Vince slammed the door and Naboo picked up the pipe,

"Naboo tell precious Vince what happens if Harold saves life three times?" Bollo asked.

Naboo grimaced, "No"


	2. 2's company

**Hi I hope you are enjoying my first fic. Obviously I don't own the Mighty Boosh – sorry I forgot to mention that in the first chapter! Likewise, I don't own Queen's Bhomian Rhapsody**

* * *

"Howard?" Vince started, for about the fifth time that morning.

He was sitting on a high wooden stool behind the counter in the Nabootique. Howard was standing next to him, dusting stationery village. The pain was worse, Vince noticed with a wince, when Howard was near by. Howard rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated show of throwing the duster down before turning to Vince,

"What?" he snapped.

Vince struggled to find the words to tell Howard that he was going to have to go away, that they couldn't see each other any more but the thought of the hurt that would show in his best friend's tiny eyes, stopped him,

"Nothing," he mumbled, turning his face back to his magazine. It had been a little over a week since Naboo had given him the news, and he had been suffering ever since – almost constant nausea, blinding headaches that were worse around Howard, dizzy spells. It was like having a constant hangover, Vince noted bitterly, only it was getting worse with time not better. Vince had taken to going out every night to get away from Howard, yet he still couldn't bear to sever the ties with him.

"Really – nothing'? There's a surprise. Just like it was nothing the last ten times. Let me tell you Sir, this joke's starting to wear pretty thin,"

Vince could hear the annoyance in his friend's voice, and cringed.

"I'm going out, there's a sale in Topshop," he mumbled, pushing himself off the stool and almost falling to the ground as a wave of light headedness washed over him. Howard caught his arm with a speed that would've surprised a casual observer of the bumbling shopkeeper,

"Oh great Vince, you started drinking in the day now as well? It's bad enough you go out every night, now this? Do you think I don't hear you throwing up or see the amount of paracetamol packets in the…hey little man, are you ok? Howard gazed concernedly into Vince's eyes, noting how unwell he looked. The worried tone of his voice made Vince's throat hurt, not to mention the fact that he couldn't remember the last time Howard had called him that,

"Just feeling a bit dizzy s'all. Maybe I'm a bit hung over," he lied. He hadn't drunk for several days – the combination of the Howard-induced symptoms and alcohol had been almost enough to send him to Naboo and beg him to prepare him a draught of eternal sleep. He had taken to just wandering the deserted streets at night for hours before nursing a hot chocolate in an all night café until it was a decent hour to go home. Howard looked him over as if checking his face for signs of drunkenness and gave a subtle sniff to see if he could smell alcohol. His pasty face, the sheen on his top lip wasn't normal but then he wasn't displaying the tell tale signs that he had had one flirtini too many: the cattiness, the over exaggerated gestures. After satisfying himself that Vince hadn't been getting drunk at ten in the morning he led him over to his chair by the window,

"Have a little sit down Vince. I'll bet you haven't had any breakfast, have you hmm?" Vince shook his head, amused by Howard's motherly attitude.

Howard disappeared upstairs, leaving Vince alone in the shop. He swung his legs contentedly and looked around at the pieces of junk that Naboo sold, all looking bright and shiny in the beams of sunshine that poured through the window, highlighting the dust motes in the air. He could hear Howard crashing about upstairs and felt an almost guilty pleasure; like a poorly child who had been allowed to stay at home with his mum instead of going to school. With Howard upstairs, his head started to clear a little and as usual, he began to imagine that he'd been a bit overdramatic with his symptoms, that maybe it wasn't that bad after all. He hummed along to the radio that was playing a poppy dance song faintly in the back of the shop and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, running them over the spot where he had childishly carved VN + HM BFF, like Braille. Howard only wanted to listen to Jazz FM and Vince favoured the kind of pirate radio station that pioneered the very freshest brash electro beats, so they compromised by listening to the local commercial radio station that suited neither of them.

The song changed and Vince's eyes widened – Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody sounded tinny out of the cheap radio but the words were clear enough to Vince, who was almost vibrating in the chair,

'Too late, my time has come,

Sends shivers down my spine,

Body's aching all the time.

Goodbye everybody, I've got to go,

Got to leave you all behind and face the truth,"

Howard came down the stairs, a steaming mug of hot chocolate with extra squirty cream on top in one hand and a bacon sandwich (with maple syrup in, because Vince couldn't eat anything unless it was liberally sprinkled with sugar) in the other. The shop was empty, the doorbell still jangling, signifying Vince's recent exit. Howard set the food down on the counter and sighed.

Vince had run out of the shop, unable to listen to that song any more. How could he leave Howard - he'd be lost without Vince to look after him, making sure he didn't get into too much trouble with girls, or Naboo, or….giant ants. Unable to think of the myriad ways that Howard could screw things up without him around, he did what he always did when he felt upset. The same thing when he felt happy, or anything else in between, in fact. He went shopping.

While Vince was out, he couldn't help but notice he was being followed, he felt a presence close by that made him uncomfortable and wary. It wasn't until he was examining himself in a mirror, only to find that it was not a mirror but someone who could be his identical twin; that he got to the bottom of it. The doppelganger tried to strike up a conversation with him, his eyes flicking over him - his face, his hair, his clothes - the whole time. It was as if he was trying to memorise the electro prince's look, as if trying to ferret out his very _essence, _and to say that Vince found it unnerving was somewhat of an understatement_. _Whilst he knew that the old Vince would have crushed this pretender to the throne of Noir with a cutting remark, he was unable to, and instead ran home and climbed under his duvet, where he stayed all night, ignoring Howard's calls into him to check if he was alright. When Howard eventually came to bed he hissed Vince's name, trying to apologise for what he had said earlier - accusing Vince of being an alcoholic. Vince just turned his back and pretended to be asleep. He almost squeaked with shock when he felt a tender touch at his bare shoulder. It wasn't until he felt a slight tickle that he realised Howard was _kissing_ his shoulder gently, chastely. His eyes shot open in shock, although Howard didn't notice in the dark.

"Goodnight little man, sweet dreams," Howard whispered. He heard the creak of Howard clambering into bed before he let out a breath that he didn't even know he had been holding. He considered saying something to Howard but he was at a loss for words and besides, he suspected Howard would be completely mortified if he realised Vince hadn't been asleep after all. After a few minutes he heard soft snores issuing from Howard's direction. He stared out the window at the moon in the sky, and for or the first time he felt real anger at what had happened to him, as he realised exactly it was he was going to have to give up. It was only by clenching hard onto the duvet with white knuckled fists, and reminding himself over and over again that being closer Howard would only make him feel worse rather than better, that he managed to stop himself from climbing out of bed and under Howard's duvet for the kind of innocent, wordless comfort that he craved, even if Howard would have only thrown him out with a resounding 'Don't touch me'.

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	3. 3's a crowd

**Once again - I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

Vince shivered and wrapped his thin blazer more tightly around him as he trudged down the grey Dalston pavement. Snow was falling heavily – thick flakes that made Vince want to run to the park and stick his tongue out to let them melt in his mouth like M n' M's, but he was barely able to get out of bed let alone go running about the park. Naboo had been letting him off duties in the shop, letting him sleep in later and later (not that he had been the earliest of risers before, it had almost always fallen to Howard to open up) in an attempt to keep his strength up. That was not why he was late today, however. Frustrated with Naboo's bleak, matter of fact prognosis, Vince had ventured somewhere that usually terrified him. It smelled funny and was full of old and ugly people, not to mention disease but Vince had braved the doctors. He shuddered at the thought of it as he opened the door of the Nabootique, glad to be back in its familiar warmth.

"Come then, on let's have it?" Howard asked wearily, retrieving a notebook and pencil from his pocket.

"Hmm?" Vince's monosyllabic reply revealed to all that were paying attention that he was too weak to summon up the sunshine kid today. However, Howard was clearly not paying attention and continued his tirade. If anything it was just gathering pace,

"Every day you're late and every day another crazy excuse. What is it this time?"

"What d'you mean?"

Vince knew exactly what he meant but decided to try the innocent kid act to try and get out of it – after all, it worked with most other people. His imagination had been wearing thin of excuses to give to Howard to explain his weird behaviour, his increasing lateness to the shop. Maybe it was just better to let Howard think he was an alcoholic if he couldn't tell him the truth, which Naboo had informed him he definitely could not.

"What, the Lego avalanche trapped you did it?" Howard sneered,

"No,"

"No? Your pyjamas turned into nitrogen? You got stuck on the ceiling of your bedroom? Hmm? A giant Kingfisher came into your bedroom and pecked you into the duvet?" Vince pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger in and attempt to massage away the pain that was vibrating in his sinuses, 'it's not Howard's fault', he repeated to himself

"You…er got your jodhpurs caught on a magic hedgehog? I wrote them down you know," he said, flipping through the pages of the notebook absently, "what is it, a scarecrow took you to Paris?"

"I just had a few things to do, that's all," Vince didn't know whether to be touched or annoyed that Howard had been playing such close attention to what he said.

"That's not funny, that's not even going in the book. That's awful." Howard put the book away and turned his back on Vince. 'He really is losing patience with me' Vince thought to himself sadly. He decided to try and tell Howard, if not the truth, then something much closer to it than the rubbish he had been coming out with recently,

"Not everything has to be funny you know. Sometimes life can take a serious turn. Colours can fade to black….Something bad's happened to me Howard." A scared tremor crept into his voice and he had to clamp his lips tightly together to stop a sob escaping. All he wanted, more than anything he had ever wished for - even more than the time he wished he could fly - was for the Northerner to scoop him up in his arms and stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be alright,"

"Nothing bad happens to you, you're made of sunshine Vince," but Howard sounded less sure of himself. He took an uncertain step toward Vince, not knowing what to do. He was more accustomed to being comforted by the younger man than being the comforter, and the alteration in roles made him uncomfortable.

"Bad things can happen to sunshine people you know,"

"No, bad things happen to me, not to you, that's how it works round here,"

Howard's voice was tinged with panic, Vince could hear it. He wondered if he could ask Naboo again if there was anything he could do. Howard seemed to really believe that nothing bad could happen to him and the thought that one day, waking up next to his cold dead body might shatter that, upset Vince more than the thought of dying itself. He wanted Howard's faith in him to remain untainted but at the same time he was reaching out for his best friend's help. He hated himself for doing it but continued anyway, trying to think of some way that he could tell Howard that he was going to have to leave and that they couldn't see each other any more,

I've got some bad news. I don't even know where to begin," he had tried so many times already and failed. Howard began to close the distance between them more quickly and the edges of Vince's vision started to blur

"Hey, this isn't like you, what's the matter? What's up?"

"I felt like there was something wrong for a while but, I went to the doctors,"

"Oh Christ" Howard knew how much Vince hated the doctors and that he wouldn't go unless something was really wrong. The assumptions he was making were visible on his face

"He's confirmed the worst,"

Actually he hadn't. He had seemed quite concerned at Vince's general health and wanted to send him for a barrage of complicated and painful sounding tests but he had confessed that he was at a loss to explain Vince's symptoms. Of course he hadn't witnessed the worst of them, what with Howard being a couple of miles away in the shop, cursing his friend's absence but he had muttered words like tachycardia and low blood pressure, which had alarmed and confused Vince in equal measures. He had said it might be some kind of strong allergic reaction (although Vince hadn't been entirely honest with the doctor about the cause of his symptoms) and had hinted that it may even be something worse. Not that he had actually said the word cancer. Vince knew better but how would you even begin explaining to a doctor that you were dying because of a Shaman's curse. He reluctantly made the appointment for the tests, knowing he would cancel it later anyway because they wouldn't help, he knew that much.

"Hey. I'm here for you," Howard said reassuringly, his tiny brown eyes brimming with sympathy and concern,

"Do you mean that Howard?" Howard's strong calloused hand caressed his shoulder and Vince leaned into the touch like a cat even though it felt like he was being flayed with barbed wire

"Course I do, its me and you all the way, what's the problem, what is it?"

The conviction with which Howard spoke was what stopped him, in the end. Howard would do anything to make Vince better – if he told him to leave he would go in a heartbeat. He knew it was true, him and Howard were a team, always had been, always would be. Or at least they would've been if Vince hadn't messed it up. Why did he have to eat that record? That was what had started this whole mess after all. He had been showing off in front of the other punks and he knew it would upset Howard as he did it. It was his own fault that he was in this situation and he deserved to suffer. Howard didn't need to be burdened with this. Wracking his brains for a way to divert the course of the conversation, Vince thought of the weird man that had been following him earlier,

"Someone's copying me."

The glass of cold water in his face made him gasp for air as Howard stormed off. The speed with which Howard put distance between the two of them made Vince feel as lost as it did relieved.

"You bitch, I thought you were dying. You said you'd seen a doctor,"

The venom with which Howard spat the word _bitch_ made Vince want to cry. Howard had never called him that before, not during any of their bickering or fallings out. It made him feel dirty and he instantly took the defensive,

"I have seen a doctor, he's a doctor of fashion"

But Howard wasn't interested. Still, Vince thought, it's better him being angry with me than hating himself for hurting me. He continued twisting the knife into Howard, telling him how he had really been off getting his face copyrighted; in a way that he knew the Vince of a few years ago would not have comprehended. He was hoping that if he just made Howard hate him enough, he might leave of his own accord. He couldn't look at Howard's crushed expression as he spoke though, knowing deep down that Howard was like a puppy that would just keep coming back no matter how many times he was kicked away.

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	4. All 4 one

**I thank you so much to RoseNoir 90, BrieStarSarsQueen, Brokenmoonlight and Ku-Chyan for reviews. Glad to know that some people are enjoying it**

**Brokenmoonlight – I did know it was tea but I couldn't quite reconcile myself to the idea that either Howard was drinking a cup of stone cold tea or he was happy to potentially scald Vince's face with boiling water….so I changed it and hoped no one would notice!**

* * *

Vince showed Howard the copy of Cheekbone, with the impostor on the front,

"I suppose it's quite a similar look," Howard noted. Vince couldn't help but register the spark of interest in Howard's eyes as he stared at Lance's picture and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from snatching the magazine away again. Instead he just threw a feather boa around his neck and posed like the attention seeking tit that he was. He was slightly mollified when Howard discarded the magazine, concentrating on an attempt to cheer him up,

"So people might not know the difference, but I know and you know, and that's all that matters Sir,"

However hard Vince tried to hope that it was true, he wasn't convinced and sighed, looking out the window. He was feeling too fragile to deal with this today. He hadn't told Naboo yet but his hair had started falling out. He almost cried when he got up that morning and spotted the clumps on the pillow. It wasn't much and couldn't be spotted to the naked eye, but he had compared it to the tally of hairs he had lost on previous days and it was definitely a marked increase. That was what had prompted him to go to the doctors.

A reminder of how replaceable he was: on the social scene; to Howard, was the last thing he needed today. He had tried to stick the hair back in, strand by strand, with superglue but it wasn't exactly a success. Instead he had to make do with doubling the amount of root booster he was using and hoping he could find a genius hat to cover it up if it got too bad. Not that that would be a problem, hats suited him. It was just that it was _his hair_, his crowning glory, his identity. For as long as he could remember people had always loved his hair – women like Mrs Gideon had been powerless to resist his glossy tresses and the thought of losing it terrified him. He had to find a way to get rid of Howard, and fast.

As if Howard could sense Vince's discomfort, he said in a persuasive tone,

"You like presents don't you Vince?"

Vince scoffed. Of course he liked presents! Who didn't!? Apart from the time that his great uncle Maurice had given him that geometry set for his birthday, but he'd given it to Howard in exchange for a sugar mouse so that had ended well anyway. Howard held out a beautiful headdress, just the thing to cover his thinning locks. Vince wondered briefly whether Howard was as clueless to the situation as he made out but the genuine smile on his face told him that he was. Nevertheless his was touched at the thoughtful kindness of his dear friend. The headdress was colourful and entirely impractical, serving neither to keep your head warm or dry. Howard must've gone to a lot of effort to pick it out, considering it went against everything he stood for. Vince was slightly choked and beamed widely at Howard. Howard was just glad to see his Vince smile again. It seemed like weeks since he had seen that look on his face and he was becoming accustomed to the pinched, pained look that Vince had taken to wearing recently.

Of course it was all spoiled by that wannabe, tapping at the window, wearing an identical hat. The thought that Lance had spoiled the tender moment between him and Howard made Vince see red and Howard had to hold him back from going for him. Howard sent him out the back and Vince leaned his hot forehead against the cool wall, allowing it to soothe his headache, wondering how quickly Howard would find a replacement for him - if not this idiot, then another. He couldn't help but overhear Lance trying to persuade Howard to go with him. He thought about rushing back in but he thought that if he moved he might throw up, and besides, he was too curious about what the maverick would do. When Lance had asked Howard to join forces with him, a part of Vince hoped that the Jazzy Northerner would take him up on the offer. It would've made everything a lot simpler, and Howard would probably not notice the difference between them anyway. After all, one preening simpleton to look after is much like another; at least that was how Vince suspected Howard saw him.

However, any grudging hope that Howard would be able to find happiness with Lance was destroyed by his reappearance with a sidekick, 'Harold Boon'. Vince could see the similarity, especially with his eyesight being as poor as it was now days but to be honest, Harold didn't have a patch on the real Howard. Vince dismissed him with barely a second look but he was surprised how worked up Howard got about him, 'So much for it's what's inside that counts', Vince thought bitterly, wondering how Howard would react if this illness made him really ugly.

It was that thought that spurred him into action; he had to get out of here, before Howard's memories of him were tainted. He headed out onto Dalston high street, stumbling slightly on his wasted legs, spying what he was looking for: a sign in a shop window, HELP WANTED. Without even bothering to look what shop it was, he headed inside.

* * *

A couple of days later he headed into the Nabootique. The cheap polyester of his junior manager's uniform suit itched his skin and he had had to take a ten percent pay cut from the already meagre wages that Naboo offered but at least it meant he could get away from Howard. They had told him that after he completed a two week induction there, he could transfer to any Rumbelows in London. Also, he felt quite proud of himself that he had managed to get a job all by himself, without Howard's help, especially with his lack of qualifications.

He knew he looked different but Howard barely looked at him, dismissing him with a curt, "Sorry we're not open,"

The fact that Howard barely looked at him twice confirmed his worst fears - the fears that he only acknowledged in the darkness of the middle of the night or after Howard had become particularly exasperated at something he has said – that Howard was only interested in him for his looks. Not like _that_, but Vince knew that his face opened doors that would not be open to someone like Howard normally, and it was a big help to their music career.

When Howard realised it was him he fell over with shock. Vince knew how he felt – he had already shed a few tears in the mirror at the loss of his trademark look but he was doing it so he could go away – _he was doing it_ _for Howard_, he told himself as he took a pair of nail scissors to his hair. His hands had been shaking so hard as he did it that he had almost ended up with a mohican.

Howard peered over the top of the counter at him,

"Vince, you're frightening me, what's happening to you?" Vince wanted to rush over and tell him it was ok, but he couldn't lie to Howard, not then. Despite the fact he was only going to Rumbelows to get away from him, he found himself offering to get Howard a job as well. He just couldn't resist his tiny brown eyes, he would have promised him the world if he had it. Howard was more concerned with beating the Flighty Zeus but Vince felt himself getting swept up in Howard's excitement, he hadn't seen him like this in years. Not since the zoo. He heard a voice that he recognised as his own, offering to help Howard defeat them, promising himself that he would leave as soon as it was over.

They went on stage together; after Vince had a hurried trip to the hairdressers to have some extensions put in, and smashed the Flight Zeus in a crimp off. There had been a particularly bad moment on stage where Vince thought his legs were going to give out but the thought of Howard's disappointed face if they lost kept him going. The next day he handed in his notice at Rumbelows. He just wanted to be at home, where everything was warm and cosy and familiar to him. Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough to fight the illness, he tried to convince himself, although as he looked at his trembling hands, he could almost hear Naboo's derisive snort of 'idiot' reminding him that it wasn't that simple.

* * *

However, Naboo was at that moment sat in the living room, feeling particularly idiotic himself. He smacked his forehead in frustration, looking at the pathetically small pile of papers in front of him. He had flown through seven universes on his carpet to gather the few scrolls and scriptures that he had in front of him – the only known information on the Curse of Kalashki - in the hope there was something that could help Vince, although there was precious little to show for it. There was so much information that had been lost over the years – great swathes of shamanical doctrine discarded on a whim or because the administration was a pain. He knew for a fact that there was a chest containing the secrets of a magical hidden Peruvian tribe being used to raise Tony Harrison's stool up at the Council. As far as he knew, the secrets remained locked still. He picked up the multicoloured box on the table in front of him. This irritated him, perhaps more than all the researching and translating that he had done so far. Tossing it from hand to hand, he examined it: it looked possibly Quilyan in design, each face covered in mosaic tiles of different colours. He pressed each one in turn before shaking the cube hard, and in the end, just slammed it down onto the table. Kirk was Quilyan, he could ask him for help with it but he didn't dare – the last thing he wanted was to alert the rest of the shamen to this. Pushing his reading glasses up to his forehead, he swiped his hands over his face tiredly and for the hundredth time, cursed the fact that the other Shamen were such arseholes.

**Thanks for reading – please review**


	5. 5 Alive?

**Thanks for the reviews everyone – it's great to know people are reading.**

**I still don't own Mighty Boosh**

**Get ready for some angst……**

* * *

"I can't believe it. Apparently loin cloths are coming back in"

Vince was sat in his favourite chair by the window, pretending to read a magazine. The idea was almost laughable. He could barely read at the best of times, let alone when he felt like he was viewing the world through an 80's television screen and squinting at the page made his head ache even more than normal, so he just did what he usually did – looked at the pictures and made up the words himself.

"Really, that's interesting" Howard sounded as uninterested as he thought he would, "are you going to do any tidying up?"

Any camaraderie that had grown up between them as a result of defeating the Flighty Zeus had quickly been dissolved when Vince had been sick into what he thought was a bag of old rags but had turned out to be Howard's jazzercise outfit. Personally Vince thought it had improved it but Howard had failed to see the funny side, thinking Vince was just drunk as usual. Since then he had been waging a war on mess and had been attempting to rope Vince in as well. Hence the constant stream of ridiculous comments that Vince had been spouting, in an attempt to distract Howard.

"Oh come on, I don't tidy up. It doesn't go with my image. You don't see people in Dazed and Confused tidying up,"

The truth was, Vince's legs were trembling so much he didn't think he could get out the chair, let alone run a duster round, but he'd be damned if he let Howard see any sign of weakness, especially as he was being particularly high handed today. It was the kind of mood that Vince knew meant Howard was wondering why they were even friends.

"Well you're not in Dazed and Confused are you, you're in a second hand shop in Dalston, so why don't you do something useful, hmm? You're the weak link in this operation,"

"The weak link!? I'm the lynch pin, that's what Naboo says. He says I add colour to the shop,"

Naboo did say that but it didn't mean that Vince felt it. He knew he was the weak link. He had heard Naboo late at night, muttering over his cauldron as he searched for a cure, he had noticed the extra grey hairs Bollo had developed in his coat. Most of all he had noticed what he was doing to Howard - the crease that had developed between his eyes, the fact that he was fast losing the small amount of self-confidence that he had and the fact that he spent more time socialising with a blind septuagenarian than he did with the man he called his best friend. He was the weak link and he was dragging everyone down with him.

"Does he really? Well Naboo's not here now is he, and I'm in charge OK so it's time for you to pull your weight. Put out some of this rubbish, which I have securely double tied with a hygienic safety ribbon," Vince knew that Naboo's exact words had been 'look after Vince' and he wasn't sure how Howard had translated this to mean he was in charge but he smiled to himself at his friend's self importance. He had never been able to fathom why he allowed his friend to lord it over him like this although he suspected it was the same thing that meant that Howard would always indulge his extravagant flights of fancy.

"Alright, keep your hair on, I'll do it," he pulled himself to his feet, gripping onto the arm of the chair so hard that his hands trembled.

Howard seemed pleased and that in turn, made Vince happy. In spite of everything that had happened, he still luxuriated in the simple pleasure of putting a smile on the older man's face. Howard warned him with a wag of his finger that he was just going over to Lester Corncrake's to listen to a new Charlie Mingus record that he had but he'd be back soon and expected to see a big improvement in the shop. As Howard said goodbye, Vince had leaned over, on a whim and pecked him on the cheek. He hadn't meant to do it; he was just so overwhelmed with fondness for his big Jazzy Northern friend that it had bubbled up his body and out through his lips. Howard raised his hand to his face as though he had been slapped, his eyes cynical, and swept out of the shop without a word. Afterward, Vince wondered whether he should feel stupid or embarrassed that Howard had rejected him like that (if rejected was even the right word, after all he was only showing his friend a bit of affection and he hadn't expected anything in return; it wasn't like he had declared his undying love to him or anything) but he couldn't find it in him. At least he hadn't told Vince not to touch him – progress indeed.

Sinking back into the chair, a hiss of pain slipping through his clenched teeth, Vince lay back and closed his eyes until the bumble bees that had taken up residence and were currently performing a rather complex line dance between his ears, had desisted. After he had counted to one hundred and eight, the dizziness that he always seemed to feel had receded and, determined to make Howard happy again, he set about tidying the shop.

Vince opened the back door – he had intended to take the rubbish out to the DRA, like Howard had told him to but he still felt like shit even though Howard had been gone for twenty minutes, and was sure that he could get Bollo to move it for him later. A chill wind hit him as it gusted through the doorway, bringing with it the kind of fine drizzly rain that he knew would absolutely wreck his hair, and he shivered. Hanging on a hook by the back door was a black woollen scarf. Vince eyed it sceptically. Peering down the passage to make sure none of Dalston's elite was there to see him; he flung the scarf over his head to cover his hair. Howard's warm, earthy scent hit his nostrils and he breathed it in deeply, revelling in it. Howard had never seen the point of spraying himself with scents, so the smell was entirely his own – a mixture of his shampoo, old tweed and other things that he had always smelled of – balls of string, cough drops, bonfire smoke and other manly things that Vince couldn't identify. Vince had always said Howard might be an unfashionable, old before his time, reader of Fox's Wives but he had always smelled nice, and Howard had always blushed and said what nonsense it was. He'd only say that to Howard in private though, he wouldn't admit it to anyone else – he always said Howard smelled of the past to everyone else should the conversation ever come up, which admittedly it rarely did. Of course the scarf was Howard's, who else in the flat would own something so plain and functional. He looked down and saw a compass had been glued onto the corner and Vince smiled in spite of himself.

Amusement soon turned to panic as his blood started singing in his ears and black spots appeared in front of his eyes. He took an unsteady step down into the passageway. If he thought he had felt like shit before, he was wrong – that was clearly just the appetiser to this: the banquet of pain that was now descending on him. As the fresh air hit him, his light-headedness increased and the ground started lurching at crazy angles. He staggered forward, feeling like he was being ripped limb from limb and somewhere in the tiny portion of his brain that wasn't being branded with red hot pokers, he was able to recognise that the high pitched keening he could hear was coming from him. After a couple of steps he started dry heaving, slinging the bags to the side of the path so he could lean against the wall. The brick of the wall felt cold and rough under his hypersensitive skin. He clawed at the scarf that now felt like it was strangling him but his hands were shaking too much to pull it off. He coughed and saw the spots of blood hit the pavement, tasting metal. Suddenly he saw the ground coming up to meet him, fast, as his legs gave way and his hands scrabbled uselessly against the wall.

The last thing he registered was the sickening crack his head made as it hit the concrete.

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**Eek – sorry about that but I did warn you! As always, please review.**


	6. The man from Quilon 6

**Thanks again for reviews!**

**After finding out that Noel Fielding has cancelled his tour, I was tempted to kill Vince off but here we go with another instalment.**

**I don't own Mighty Boosh**

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When Vince regained consciousness his first thought was how soft and warm the concrete felt. He opened his eyes to find himself in his own bed with Naboo looking over him, almost frantic.

"What the hell happened?"

Vince cringed away from his voice under the duvet.

"M' just went for a little sleepy,"

The usually laid back Shaman rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, visibly restraining himself from losing his temper. Vince had never seen him like this. Even when he and Howard accidentally released Nanatoo he had seemed more irritated than angry. When he finally spoke, he used the gentle tones of an adult trying to explain something very important to a young child but Vince could see that his fists were shaking, his knuckles white,

"Vince, you've been unconscious for over four hours – have you got any idea what I've been going through? When Bollo and I found you, you were turning blue. I had to give you three drops of Shaman juice before I could even find a pulse! If we had been a few minutes later…..Thank god I picked up that bottle of Shaman juice from my supplier yesterday," he shook his head slowly and let out a shaky breath through his clenched teeth.

Vince's mouth dropped open as he took in the enormity of what Naboo was saying. He had almost died. Somehow he had believed that this problem would go away, that Naboo would find an answer, that he would rush in at the last moment and solve everything as usual. After all, wasn't that exactly what he had just done,

"Can't you just keep giving me that Shaman juice? I mean, it seems to have sorted me out now – Ow!"

Vince had held his hands up in front of his face to prove he was ok, only to find that someone had filled his arms with broken glass, or at least that was what it felt like.

"It's not that simple. Shaman juice can keep you alive when nothing else will but it won't cure you, as I'm sure you can tell. If anything it can make you feel worse because it lets your body endure stuff that would normally kill you. Back in the Shamanic Inquisition in the thirteenth century it was used as a kind of weapon. Think of the world of pain a Shaman with an inventive mind for torture can rain down on someone after they've given them a couple of drops of that stuff,"

"But – "

Naboo cut him off with a wave of his hand,

"If I kept giving it to you, before long you'd be begging for death - it isn't good. Seriously Vince, this is some crazy shit – it messes with your mind as well,"

"Like those magic mushrooms Saboo sold you?"

"Worse. I'm still not sure I've even done the right thing giving it to you, except I couldn't just…you were just lying there…." He trailed off helplessly.

Vince shuddered, the reality that this might not have a happy ending, finally sinking in. He wished that Howard was there – Howard always knew how to cheer him up. As if Naboo sensed what, or who, Vince was thinking about, he asked,

"Have you even said anything to him about him leaving yet?"

Vince shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. Despite the nagging feeling that Vince needed shocking out of the state of denial he seemed to have settled down into, Naboo saw the fear on his face and softened slightly,

"Listen, why don't you go and have a hot bath. I'm going to try and get this sorted,"

Vince nodded gratefully, seemingly incapable of speech. The thought of having someone fix everything for him sounded like a comfort, albeit a rather remote one.

"I'll get Bollo to run you one and I'll see you later,"

"What are you going to do?" Vince asked, finally finding his voice. He clung to Naboo's sleeve like a lost child as he saw the Shaman try to turn away. Naboo's mouth was set in a line of grim determination,

"Well first I'm going to the Shaman Council. Then I'm getting rid of Howard. No arguments," he ordered before he swept from the room.

Vince sank to the floor of the bathroom as steam filled the small room. His lungs were burning as though he had ran a marathon and his breath rattled in his raw throat. He had just chanced a look in the mirror and it was worse than he had imagined. His hair was thick with blood around the throbbing egg that was developing on his head and his eyes had deep bruise-like shadows under them. There was a deep red weal around his neck where the scarf had been resting and he itched it absently as he waited for the bath to fill. This was going to take a lot of cosmetics to cover up and he began mentally running through his wardrobe for the best thing to wear to hide it. 'Stop it', he told himself, realising he was concentrating on the most insignificant aspect of the whole affair just to stop himself from having a full-blown panic attack. He knew Howard would be back soon and probably tell him off for leaving the shop in a mess. He smiled sadly, wishing everything was that simple. In a moment of self-indulgence, he wondered if Howard would cry at his funeral. He had never seen Howard cry, not even when his mum died. Remembering the kiss that he had accidentally given Howard, he consoled himself that at least if he had've died, it would've been a fitting goodbye, instead of Howard nagging him about the rubbish. Vince climbed into the bath and sank back into the steaming water, closing his eyes with exhaustion.

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Naboo had to leave Bollo with the carpet because he was parked on a double yellow, and strode into the clearing that usually held the Shaman's Council. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the long table that they usually sat at was empty. Empty apart from one figure leaning on the desk, spinning a dagger on its point: Kirk. Naboo swallowed, he knew what this meant.

"Kirk" he greeted brusquely. There was always something that had given him the willies about Kirk, same as most Quilyans. It wasn't that Naboo was specist, he just didn't like Quilyans. He couldn't decide whether it was the fact they all looked like ten-year-old children, or the fact that they were bloodthirsty monsters. They pillaged and destroyed their way around the universe, taking over a planet by force before moving onto the next when they had exhausted the resources of that particular host – they were currently on Quilon Six. Kirk looked up and smiled, his eyes hard and cruel but didn't say anything. The most dangerous and deadly of all Shamen was not often one to waste words. He usually let his actions speak for him. However, Naboo wasn't in the mood to waste time on pleasantries either,

"Where's Dennis?"

"He had accompany his wife to an abseiling equipment exhibition at Earls Court. However, he has delegated all responsibilities regarding your case to me," faster and faster span the dagger as Kirk twirled it between his fingers.

"You mean you know about what's happening to my flat mate?"

"The mortal? Yes, he has incurred the curse of Kalashki. We have been monitoring the situation closely and have been expecting you for some time now. Although we did wonder today if you might have left it a little too late,"

"And you were all just going to let him die? You bunch of ballbags –" Naboo stopped abruptly as Kirk sprang with feline grace over the desk and grabbed him by the throat,

"I'm warning you Naboo, one more word out of line." He relaxed his grip but his eyes flashed dangerously "You know ours is not to meddle with the ways of men. You may choose to waste your powers on trinkets and fripperies for the humans but even you must see that there is a line that cannot be crossed"

Naboo was familiar with the Shamanic code and had to concede. Kirk took a step back, leaning against the back of the desk,

"Let's be honest, you've made more than your fair share of mistakes Naboo, and we have been lenient. But in this case we will not be. So let me make sure we are both quite clear. We looked the other way when you told him of the curse of Kalashki,"

"Not all of it," Naboo interjected. Kirk held up a warning finger that was shaking with rage and continued,

"We are prepared to turn a blind eye to the fact that you administered Shaman juice to the mortal today but not again. If you interfere any further in this case, by either saving the mortal's life, or by informing him of the remainder of the curse you will be reprimanded in the most severe way."

"Vince, his name's Vince," Naboo muttered stubbornly. Kirk just snorted in derision.

"I care not one bit about that, and neither should you. One more thing, Naboo. Just in case you try any heroics, let me just say that that the severe reprimand of which I speak will also stretch to include your familiar, Bollo, as well as the humans that you reside with, should they still be alive," Naboo's head shot up as Kirk slammed the knife deep into the polished mahogany of the desk. Evidently his patience was exhausted. However, Naboo wasn't prepared to give up without, if not a fight then some fairly strong begging. He could at least ask him how to open the Quilyan cube that currently was resting in the pocket of his robes and had caused him so much annoyance already. Closing his fingers around it, he started tentatively,

"But if I could just…."

"NO!" Kirk roared, retrieving the dagger and aiming it at Naboo. He saw it fly past him into the bushes as he rapidly retreated to the carpet.

**Thanks for reading - please review**


	7. Lucky 7

**I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

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Vince jerked upward with a start, spitting water out as his body was wracked with violent coughs. He had fallen asleep in the bath. Judging by his wrinkled white fingertips and the cold water, he had been there for some time. He tried to pull himself out of the bath, nearly falling backwards as his arms, trembling with weakness, nearly failed him. However, with an effort of Herculean proportions, he willed his wasted muscles to move until he collapsed onto the bathroom floor. If it wasn't for the fact that he could still see all his hair products, Vince would've been convinced that he had actually died after all and woken up in hell. Throughout this whole affair, he hadn't felt as sorry for himself as he did in this moment. He usually thought of himself as being more lucky than the average person – good things just seemed to appear around him. However, now it seemed like all that had been reversed.

Shivering, he pulled the towel off the radiator and wrapped it around his shoulders before bursting into huge sobs, almost too big for his tiny frame. Vince had never been much of a crier - he had learned the hard way that you never showed any weakness in a Children's Home - but in the last few weeks, he had made up for that. After he had cried himself out he pushed himself upwards until he was standing on shaky legs. It was painfully obvious that his brush with death had altered him in a way that could not be easily reversed. In the past he'd felt better almost immediately after leaving Howard's presence but it had been hours since Naboo had rescued him from the murderous clutches of the scarf and yet he still felt like there wasn't nearly enough blood in his body and there was a hammer trapped in his head that was trying to escape the only way it knew how (admittedly it was more like a claw hammer than the sledge hammer of an hour or so ago but Vince never did know much about tools). He pulled his impractical black satin kimono around him, looking furiously at Howard's soft warm looking brown towelling dressing gown that was hung over the back of the door looking more comfortable but infinitely more deadly. With a scowl on his face, Vince made his way to his bedroom to begin the tiring and tortuous act of getting dressed.

After a few minutes, he padded into the kitchen, wondering if some food would make him feel better. He tore a small chunk of bread from a loaf sitting on the counter and chewed tentatively but had barely had time to swallow before he was forced to turn and vomit noisily into the sink. Maybe no food then, he told himself. Leaning against the sink he ran the cold water, splashing it over his face and swilling it around his teeth. At least the purge had lessened the feeling of pressure in his head. The flat was empty and quiet – Naboo obviously still wasn't back from the Shaman Council. The shop was closed up, Vince realised with a stab of guilt, because of him. Howard had gone out and left him to look after it and now it was shut and he was costing Naboo money as well as his time.

Suddenly he heard a bang from somewhere downstairs. 'Shit, the shop's being robbed,' Vince thought with an impending sense of panic that he was all that stood between the possible gangs of bloodthirsty burglars and all of Naboo's stock, not to mention his own priceless collection of shoes and clothes. Gripping the can of mace he carried with him on nights out in one hand and the banister tightly in the other, he crept down into the shop. As he reached the bottom step he almost jumped out of his skin as he heard the crash again, louder this time. He hissed a sigh of relief out from between his clenched teeth as he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and span round to find it was just the back door, swinging in the wind. Naboo and Bollo must've left it open when they brought him in earlier. The door banged again on the wall and Vince jumped forward to close it. However, his jaw dropped open as he looked down the passageway. There, blocking the view out onto the street, almost blocking out the sun was a monstrous mountain of black bin bags. He looked at the two nearest the shop and noted that they were securely double tied with Howard's special 'hygienic safety ribbon' knot – he had tried to get it patented and everything. They were the bags he had chucked out earlier. Confused as to where the rest of the bags had come from, he stepped outside. Spotting what looked like a doorway in the bin bag palace, he made his way inside without a second thought.

Just over an hour later, Naboo and Bollo returned to the shop to find Vince on the floor, unconscious again. Naboo ran forwards, panicked – he had been getting worried about leaving Vince alone for all that time but they got stuck in a traffic jam on the way home. He quickly checked his pulse and let out the breath that he had been holding, when Vince stirred. After checking him over, he was relieved to find that he was relatively unharmed. As Vince sat up, dazed, Naboo's relief turned to anger,

"What happened Vince? Why didn't you just stay in bed?"

"I heard a noise, I thought we were being burgled. Oh, I've got this horrific headache" he moaned softly as Bollo helped him to his feet. Naboo scanned the shop, his eyes flicking over the assorted objets d'art to assure himself that nothing had been taken. With a sense of sinking horror, he saw the door of his safe open. Rushing over to it, he shouted to Vince,

"Have you been in my cupboard?"

"No, why?"

Naboo ran his hand around all the edges of the cupboard, and along the back, in the hope that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"Well someone has – I've been cleaned out,"

"Of what?"

"The pint of Shaman juice. What happened?

Accusation hung heavy in the air, almost palpable. Naboo was sure that Vince wouldn't have taken the juice after the warning he gave him earlier but if it wasn't him that had taken it then who? One of the other Shamen? Did they not think Kirk's heavy-handed advice and thinly veiled threats were enough to stop him using it?

With a sigh and a ruffle of his hair (a sign that he was ashamed of something, Naboo had learned), Vince admitted he had let in a friendly urban fox called Jerome. Naboo couldn't blame him entirely – he imagined that Vince needed a friend right now and had never exactly been the best judge of character at the best of times. Even so, that didn't solve the problem of what he was going to do about this. The Shaman Council already knew he had the Shaman juice, a prohibited substance so if there was trouble they wouldn't have far to look to know who to blame. As if they needed another excuse to get on his case. Seeing the look on Naboo's face, Vince was slightly puzzled,

"It doesn't matter though does it? I mean, you said I couldn't use it any more anyway,"

"Vince, you don't understand, this is really serious. If the fox uses the juice he'll be unstoppable, Bollo, get the magic carpet – we need to sort this mess out"

"Ok" Bollo grunted, going to get the carpet back out from where he had only minutes ago parked it.

Naboo moved over to the window to peer suspiciously out into the gloom in an attempt to satisfy himself that none of the other Shamen were lurking outside watching him. However, at that moment, he spotted Howard walking down the road, swinging his bag happily, without a care in the world. Moving quickly he tossed a cape over to Vince,

"Here, put this on, cover up your neck a bit, you look like you've been giving yourself hickeys with the Hoover,"

Vince threw it around his shoulders, eyeing the bright colours wondrously,

"Oh and Vince?"

"Yeah?" Vince said distractedly, swirling the cape around

"Whatever happens in a minute, just say nothing,"

"Yeah yeah, Naboo, whatever you say," Vince hadn't missed a beat in the pattern he was twirling,

"VINCE! Promise me. And mean it" Finally Vince stopped, his blue eyes wide and concerned.

"I promise," he said slowly.

The doorbell jangled.

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**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far - all reviews are really appreciated. So please leave some more!**


	8. Some m8 you are

**Wow two updates in one day – get me! I hope you are enjoying the story so far**

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"Get out, you're sacked," Naboo ordered, with more than a hint of the finality in his voice that Vince usually found faintly comical when issuing from the shaman's diminutive body.

Howard looked like Naboo had just thrown a bucket of wet cement at him. He had actually been in a good mood after Jazzercise, something that he recognised as an increasingly rare occurrence. He should've known it was too good to last.

He denied letting in the crack fox furiously, spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks belying his hurt and confusion. 'Of course he's confused', thought Vince angrily, 'I was the idiot that let it in'. What made it worse, was the fact that three of the four people in the room knew that he was telling the truth and no one was speaking up.

"Lies, lies from tiny eyes," Naboo dismissed him coldly, if possible, his face even more deadpan than usual.

"Vince, tell Naboo the truth, I would never let that happen," Howard begged. Vince felt an irrational urge to laugh bubbling up in his throat. It was partly due to nerves - he always felt like laughing when he was nervous although in equal measures, it was the sheer ridiculousness of the idea that Howard would have broken the rules, been shoddy with the running of the shop.

In the end, it had turned pretty nasty and Naboo had had to turn his back on Howard, Vince shuddered - no one deserved that. His scream as Bollo held onto him tightly made Vince want to shout 'It's ok Howard, it was all a joke,' but he had promised Naboo.

Howard looked one more time, beseechingly at Vince, his eyes pleading for some help, some back up that he was telling the truth. Vince just turned up the collar of the cloak that Naboo had given him to cover up the mark on his neck. Not that he thought Howard would notice it anyway – Howard barely looked at him any more. Instead his shifty cockerel's eyes just slithered right past him, as though he was distasteful to look at. Vince resented this - he might be a little prick but at least he was pretty, god damn it. This was the first time Howard had looked him properly in the eye for weeks, and it made Vince feel sick. Not the normal burning nausea that he felt all day long at the back of his throat, but something deeper in the pit of his belly that grasped at him: guilt. He couldn't meet the maverick's eyes and instead started spinning around, twirling the cape faster and faster until the room was almost a blur. It made him feel dizzy, but in a good way – made him forget the dizziness that seemed to plague him all the time. 'This isn't happening, this isn't happening', he whispered to himself, screwing his eyes tightly shut and trying to imagine a world where he and Howard were just normal men, when strange things didn't continually happen to them, where he hadn't fallen foul of a shaman's curse.

"I don't need you guys anyway, I don't need this place. I've got bigger fish to fry, irons in the fire. And Vince," Howard no longer looked betrayed, or broken, or hurt – what Vince saw in his eyes was white hot rage. He punctuated his words with his finger, "I'll never forgive you for what you did to me today,"

As he finally came to a halt he saw Howard walking out the door, his head bowed and his shoulders sagging. He didn't look back. 'Well, you've got a perfect angle to really stick the knife in now, some mate you are' a vicious voice in his head chided, as Howard disappeared from view. He looked at Naboo, feeling slightly betrayed,

"Why did you do that?"

"Got rid of him didn't it? I thought that was what you wanted? Since you seemed incapable of leaving on you own steam. Or would you rather have died?"

Vince gasped at Naboo's callous attitude, trying to remind himself that when you lived for thousands of years, human life was fleetingly transient, and that Howard had been his best friend for twenty years would seem like a passing acquaintance. Still, he couldn't help but blame him for the cold-hearted way Howard had been dismissed, cast out onto the street. His breathing became ragged as he tried to tell himself that wouldn't be the last time he would see Howard, that he would have to come back to collect his stuff, at least. Then he could apologise, make him see that it wasn't his fault….oh what was the use. Even with his better than average skill for making excuses, there was no way he could make it look to Howard like anything other than the bald fact that he had just fed Howard to the lion of unemployment to save his own skin. He toyed with the idea of saying that an overweight kestrel had stolen his ears, replacing them with a pair of elaborately embroidered ladies gloves, rendering him deaf to what Naboo had been saying, but he doubted very much that he would buy it. Even if, and that was a big if, Howard forgave him, it wouldn't solve the problem of him dying, in fact it would rather make the problem worse, what with Howard being the thing that was killing him, and all. Plus now there would be the added problem that every time he saw Howard, there would be another reminder - tossed onto the big pile of reminders that Vince already carried around with him - of how he had let his friend down. He should've asked Naboo what he was planning, he should've done _something_ – his head ached with the enormity of trying to work out what it was.

Naboo watched the self proclaimed King of the Mods shrewdly. He knew what the younger man was thinking, that he was cruel and heartless. However, quite the opposite was true – Naboo had done something that was rare amongst Shamen – he had grown to care for the humans. He had been immediately intrigued by Vince when he had come to work at the zoo and in him had found a character so full of whimsy and childlike innocence that he couldn't help but enjoy his company, but in the end it was Howard, sweet clownish Howard to whom life never seemed to grant a break, who had broken through his icy barrier. After Naboo had had to come to Howard's aid for what seemed like the dozenth time, he began to wonder if it was his purpose in life to protect that buffoon and his loveable best friend, who Howard inevitably dragged into trouble as well. He was just glad that the Xooberonians were exempt from the Curse of Kalashki, as agreed in the intergalactic treaty signed by his people and the first generation of Shamen, signed in the year Boiled Egg (or 94BC in earth years).

He had spent many a sleepless night studying the old texts and scrolls he had collected, trying to find a way to weasel out of this. He had learned a little – enough to know that even if the Xooberonians weren't exempt from the curse, it was highly unlikely that he would have fallen foul of the curse. It was rare, more rare than he had even thought when he told Vince it affected one in a million people. And not just anyone – special people that glittered in the dust of everyday society and seemed to fly above the rest. But he was missing something, he knew it; something big. Not relying on his ability to solve the puzzle in time, he had even travelled back to Xooberon to apply to marry Vince, in the hope that the exemption would then be cast over him as a citizen of Xooberon. He had been turned down, however, and had returned home bitterly disappointed, although feeling almost unspeakable relief that he wouldn't have to live in a sham marriage with his friend, or have to complete the complicated consummation rituals.

In the end, this had been only solution he could come up with. As unsatisfactory as it was, he hoped that a clean break might be easier and it was certainly better that Howard killing Vince, and then likely himself as a result of what had happened. He wondered if it would make Vince feel any comfort if he told him that he intended to carry on paying Howard his full rate until the man's conscience, or more likely his Northern pride, made him start returning the payments. Knowing he was right did not make this any easier though. After assuring Vince that it was for the best and that he would start to feel better soon, he went to meet Bollo and make the long trip back to the Shaman Council and admit that he had fucked up and lost the Shaman juice. He didn't need Bollo to say it; he had a bad feeling about this.

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**Please review x**


	9. 9 times tables

**Hi, here I am with another instalment – there isn't a lot of action in this chapter, it's more me just indulging myself but I hope you like it!**

**Thanks to Mowgli In Flares, Brie Starwars Queen and Ku-chyan for your reviews. Glad people are liking the Naboo aspect of the story. He wasn't really meant to be in the story much but he just keeps butting in!**

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Vince had been wrong about one thing – Howard didn't come back, not that afternoon or all night. Neither had Naboo. Vince lay awake in bed, the room seeming at once too quiet and too noisy without Howard sleeping next to him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the look on Howard's face as Vince destroyed the perfect faith Howard had always had that they were a team and would stick together no matter what, the faith that he had held since he was eight and Howard was six.

Vince raised a bitter smile at how he had managed to convince everyone they knew that Howard was ten years older than him, and Howard had gone along with it, just to spare Vince's vanity. A month here, a year there – it had been so easy that Vince himself often forgot his real age Of course Howard acting so much older than he really was made it all the easier, and Vince wondered if it suited his friend to come across as the more mature sufferer of his friend's childish antics as much as it did him. The irony of the fact that had they ever acted their own age, they would never have met did not escape him.

_Vince had always been a precocious child – happy to chatter away to adults and keen to learn. In fact, he preferred the company of adults; boys of his age were nasty and rough, often pulling his hair with their clumsy childish fingers or getting grubby marks on his clothes. Despite his small stature he was often mistaken for a boy several years older as a result of his intelligence and confident nature. The only flaw that was ever noted on his school report was his fickle nature: he often bored easily of the work that the other children were doing and seemed to prefer to stare out the window, or spend his time making up elaborate fantasy worlds. Luckily for him, at the age of six, he was residing with a couple of particularly nice foster carers – the type who actually seemed to like him and paid attention to how he was doing at school. After they met with his teachers, it was decided that the best way to remedy this was to put him up into an older class in the hope that the work would be sufficiently challenging to make him concentrate. _

_By contrast Howard had been rather slow – slow to learn and slow at sports. He seemed to be moving constantly in slow motion; dragging his heels at every opportunity, his mother said. It wasn't that he didn't try. There was many a long hour that found Howard bent over his desk, his eyes screwed up in concentration staring at a blank page. No matter how long he sat, however, the answers did not seem to come to him and he more often than not ended up with a crumpled, dirty looking piece of paper, covered in smudges and crossings out but completely bereft of work. His teachers despaired of what they perceived to be an obtuse, wilful attempt not to learn and when his reading ability fell drastically behind those of his class mates they had little choice but to consider holding him back a year. As it happened, his parents had been forced to move from Leeds to London because of his father's work and the school board had decided that was the best time to have him redo his third year. _

_And so that was how the two of them met: both outcasts, boys of the wrong age thrust into a class with children that had already made friends and established social hierarchies. As might have been expected, Vince was immediately venerated by his new classmates who viewed him as somewhat of a curiosity that was to be crowded around and passed from person to person for closer inspection, like a shiny bauble. As might also have been expected, Howard was in turn ignored and ridiculed by everyone. The teacher had sat them next to each other in the hope that they might balance each other out somewhat. For the first few weeks, barely a word passed between the two boys ('Can you pass me the pink crayon?' Howard had asked, 'It's fuschia,' Vince had hissed back, and that had been the end of it). Vince had tried kicking Howard 'by accident' under the table a few times to get his attention, and had earned nothing but a cold stare for his efforts. Vince had begun to find the staid, stolid child more than intriguing – he felt like he had to learn more about the him, if only because Howard was the only other boy that didn't seem to enjoy charging around playing wars and such like. Vince knew that the other children called Howard retarded, because of his messy work and his strange accent but he suspected that the older boy's problems stemmed more from a lack of conviction than a lack of intelligence. After all, he had spied Howard writing what looked like poetry when he was supposed to be solving maths problems._

_It wasn't until the class was supposed to be doing a spelling test that the schism between them finally closed. Vince was diligently copying down the words that the teacher read out when he caught Howard peering over his shoulder, _

"_That's cheating," he had whispered, glancing to the front of the class to ensure that the teacher hadn't noticed. Howard glared at him red faced, furious at being caught out,_

"_Shut up and let me copy or I'll hit you,"_

_The larger boy waved his fist in front of Vince in what he supposed to be a threatening gesture. Vince, feeling distinctly unthreatened, had leant back and let Howard copy all his spellings. After all, this wasn't the first time Vince had noticed Howard cheating, merely the first time he had mentioned it, and it didn't bother him if he wanted to copy, why would it?_

_At lunchtime Howard had come up to Vince, scuffing his toe in the dust of the playground. Vince was surprised at this voluntary contact from the boy, who seemed to despise him during their enforced association in the classroom and didn't acknowledge his existence the rest of the time, _

"_I wouldn't really have hit you, you know," _

"_I know," Vince had replied, smiling confidently, a hint of his cheeky nature coming to the fore. Howard had looked taken aback, as though the script he had worked out in his head was not quite being followed, and just turned and ran away. _

_It had taken Vince nearly the whole of the lunch hour, before he found Howard. He was crouching in a dense thicket of bushes, snivelling into his corned beef sandwiches._

"_There you are!" he exclaimed triumphantly as though he'd won a game of hide and seek. 'This is a brilliant den you've got here. If we could get a piece of old wood or something to go here," he gestured, "then no one would ever be able to spot us. It'd be genius!" _

_Without waiting to be invited, he wriggled his way between the spiny branches and sat back on his heels in the dirt next to Howard. Howard mumbled a thank you and offered him one of his sandwiches. They sat side by side, chewing in companiable silence for the next few minutes, before Vince had to break it,_

"_Why do you copy?"_

"_You know why – I'm stupid,"_

"_I don't think you're stupid," _

_Vince had replied so quickly and matter-of-factly that Howard's eyes shot to his face, searching sceptically for the punch line that he felt sure was coming. After he felt safe enough that there wasn't one he mumbled,_

"_I am. Everything the teacher says just sounds like nonsense to me and I can't even understand the baby stuff. I've got ideas in my head but I just can't get them out of the pen on to the paper. It's not just here – I was just as bad back home in Leeds,"_

"_Maybe you just aren't being taught right,"_

_Howard goggled at Vince. Of all the teachers and specialists he had seen and all the assessments that had been performed on him, no one had come up with something as breathtakingly simple as that. He hardly dared to hope that it could be true, and even if it was, what could he do about it – was there even 'another' way to be taught?"_

"_I could teach you," the small, dark haired boy offered shyly, drawing in the dirt with a bit of stick. _

_Howard was sure that this strange small dark haired boy who looked like he had been dropped from the pages of a fairy story couldn't be serious. His uniform was too big for him and looked like it had been owned by someone else previously but he carried himself like a young prince, dressed in palace robes. Surely someone like that couldn't possibly want to teach a dunce like him – it must be a joke after all. He refused, and although Vince hadn't seemed affronted, he didn't mention it, or attempt to talk to Howard again. However, Howard noticed gratefully that he always made the effort to lean back during spelling tests so Howard could see his work. _

_It wasn't until a few weeks later – an age in the life of a small boy – that Vince was playing in the playground when a gang of boys came running up to him,_

"_Hey Vince do you want to come and play British Bulldog?" _

"_Vince, Vince, you can be on my team!"_

"_No Vince, come and play machine guns with me – rat tat tat tat a tat"_

_Vince stared at the boisterous boys that seemed to be descending on him with a wall of sound and fury. Feeling claustrophobia settle over him he all but shrieked,_

"_I can't. I said I'd play with someone else!"_

"_Who?" the mob demanded. Vince stared around the suddenly deserted playground with panicked eyes. Over a corner, poring over a book, frowning and mumbling to himself was Howard Moon. _

"_I'm playing with Howard!"_

_The mob turned as one to look at Howard. The Northern boy barely looked up from his book before affirming in a bored tone,_

"_Oh yes, he's playing with me,"_

_Vince breathed a sigh of relief and skipped over to the older boy. Grabbing him by the hand he had dragged him off to their 'well genius secret den'. Howard was surprised when they got there, that Vince had obviously been back since and had covered the entrance with a piece of rotten old chip board as he had suggested. Looking around inside, he noticed the addition of some ancient looking floral cushions and a tin box that Vince assured him was full of sweets. Grudgingly he'd had to admit it was pretty good and with that, their friendship was cemented. Howard had at first protested that he didn't want to be hanging around with a funny looking kid like Vince but after Vince had pointed out that he was hardly flush with admirers and wouldn't it be nice to have a partner in PE for once, he had soon relented. _

_That was when Vince's tutoring of Howard had begun – the telling of fantastical stories that would end with Vince lying on his stomach, kicking his heels in the air as he squealed with laughter and even Howard chuckling; the drawing of words as though they were beautiful pictures instead of the jumble of letters that Howard had previously seen them as. Howard sometimes wondered why Vince bothered with him but it was look of something almost approaching reverence in Howard's eyes as he hung onto every word of Vince's explanation of how to remember the nine times tables; that and the fact that the rough boys stayed away from him after he started hanging around with him; that made Howard as valuable to Vince as he was to Howard. Vince's patience or conviction in Howard never faltered and over the coming months Howard's grades started to make a marked improvement. Vince's assumption had been right – Howard was a very intelligent boy, he just hadn't been taught the right way. Unfortunately, Vince's tendency to day dream was not so easily cured; if anything it got worse after meeting Howard and gaining an accomplice to gallop through the adventures in his head with. Consequently, Vince started to struggle where his friend excelled, and it was no surprise to anyone except maybe Howard, when Vince walked away from education with only a BTECH in hair design, and he left clutching a brace of GCSE's and an A level. _

That was why, in the end, Vince had let the crack fox in – the desire to be needed, admired, the way that he had been once before.

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**Reviews are really appreciated – especially as I'm not too sure about this chapter**


	10. 10 hours to execution

**Hi thanks so much to** **my reviewers and to the people who have added me to their favourites. I'm really grateful, especially as this is my first fic. Here's another bit of Vince torture but it won't be going on too much longer, don't worry. **

**As usual, I don't own the Mighty Boosh. I also cannot claim ownership of the tiny snippet I used out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, or the Vortex Jazz club - that's a real place in Dalston. You can google it and everything!**

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Vince stared glumly at the piece of blank paper in front of him, and then at the wastepaper basket of rejected plans on the floor by his feet. He was all alone in this mess – completely and utterly without help. He had tried talking to the teapot a while ago but they hadn't really got on. He couldn't think of the last time he had been really alone. Even throughout this whole mess with the curse, when he had felt more distanced from Howard than he could ever remember, he still had Naboo to talk to, or Leroy and the rest of the random people he went out partying with, to pass some time with. Being on your own was pretty boring, he concluded, unimpressed with his own company, which in itself surprised him, as other people always loved spending time with him. 'They didn't love it enough to stick around though, did they,' he muttered angrily, thinking of how the people he had invited round earlier had trashed the shop, 'borrowed' all the money out of the till and then had all drifted away when he'd needed help. 'Please', he'd begged to the empty shop, falling to his knees as the last of them had walked out the door, a look of disgusted pity on her face. Honestly, it was like none of them had ever seen a Shaman use someone as a conduit before. Naboo did it all the time if he didn't have any credit it on his phone and wanted to pass a message on to Vince or Howard. Once, Vince had even done a pretty passable impression of Naboo and got Howard to go down to the shops to get a packet of chocolate hob nobs when he was too lazy to go, although after that they had both started asking Naboo security questions.

He dragged the pen across the page in yet another attempt to formulate a plan. It looked exactly like the last thirty-four plans he had drawn – four words scrawled messily across the page: Go and find Howard.

He weighed it up in his mind, battling with himself over what to do.

Would Howard even forgive him? _He's always forgiven you before, you and him are a team, __what__ would he do without you_.

Naboo had told him to stay away from Howard – he'd probably be pretty annoyed when he got back. _If Howard isn't around to come up with a plan to get the juice off that fox, Naboo won't be coming back at all. _

What if being near Howard finished him off, he was pretty weak already.

Vince was surprised how long his brain cell took to think of an objection to this one. Truth be told, he was sick of living in limbo and just wanted it to be over one way or another - the sickness and the Shaman Juice was starting to affect his mind as well as his body, as Naboo had told him it would – hell, the fact he was sitting here having a conversation with his own brain cell was enough to let Vince know that he had gone wrong.

_He'll only be around for a few hours to fix everything and then if you're still ok, Naboo can send him away again. _

IF I'm ok!? Besides, either way, that's not really fair on Howard, he doesn't deserve that. _Silence_

Vince picked up his pencil again.

An hour later, he wasn't much further along. He could taste the bitter edge of desperation coating his mouth, like burnt toast or coffee without six sugars in. Naboo and Bollo were due to be executed in ten hours – he had received an invite to the event, embossed on thick black card – at first he had thought it was an invitation to a Goth wedding. As a clock ticked loudly from somewhere in the shop, he could feel his arguments against going and finding Howard getting smaller and smaller. Looking down at the page in front of him, he sighed, 'Go and find Howard', this time in pink crayon. Childishly he scribbled the picture of a pony over the top of the letters, before grabbing his cape and going to find Howard.

He walked the streets for what felt like hours, stumbling on his wasted legs and tripping over his own feet in exhaustion. He had searched all the places that he thought he might be – Lester Corncrake's house, the Vortex Jazz Club, but no one had seen him all day. He had resorted to just stopping every person he passed and asking them if they had seen him. He had had a photo to begin with until he showed it to a strangely dressed guy with bad hair that smelled of fish and Baileys who had run off with it. After that he had resorted to describing Howard, with just as poor results. That was the problem with searching for someone with such a bland, ambient face, Vince realised – no one was too sure whether they had seen him or not. Even when the tramp told him that he was just down the alley, he was sceptical.

It wasn't until he was face to face with Howard, feeling rooted to the spot and suddenly overcome with nerves that he realised that he had found him at last. Howard must've heard the approaching footsteps but didn't look up from his task. Vince paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and planting his feet squarely on the ground before calling out in a tone that was as confident as he could muster,

"Hey Howard, you eating out the bins again?"

"What do you want?" Howard finally looked up, his eyes were cold and emotionless. Vince attempted to keep the sunshine on his face, despite the dark rainy fear in his heart that was threatening to cloud it out; the fear that Howard had really meant it this time; that he _would_ never forgive him.

"How's it going?"

"It's going great thank you very much," he began gathering up the bags and making to leave. Vince asked the first thing that came into his head, in an attempt to keep Howard near him for a few more minutes. Unsurprisingly it was about fashion,

"Why you wearing that outfit?"

"Because I'm a bin man, because these guys welcomed me back with open arms"

"Who are they?"

"They're my crew, they're my street brothers," He called to the waiting refuse collectors with a resounding 'Yo' and a salute for effect,

"What are they all about?"

"They're real people Vince, they don't toss me aside for a silver cape," Vince looked at them sceptically. They certainly did seem to at least know who Howard was, which ranked them higher than the majority of his acquaintances. They all stared back at Vince with their surly, pudgy faces. He didn't like them, he decided, even if they had looked out for Howard. He felt shame paint his face at the way Naboo had forced Howard out the shop earlier because of him.

"I'm sorry Howard, you know how I am about clothes – remember that time I pushed that toddler in front of a juggernaut because he stood on my TopShop voucher – I can't help myself,"

Howard nodded in acquiescence and agreed to help him grudgingly – now days everything Howard ever did where Vince was concerned seemed to be grudgingly. Of course, with Howard on board, everything fell into place and it seemed like only moments later, they were speeding towards the Shaman Council in a black cab. Vince dreaded to think how much it was going to cost – after what he had given Donny earlier, he only had seventeen Euros left in his account. After the adrenaline of the adventure started to wear off he began to realise how terrible he felt. Sweat was sticking his hair to his forehead and his bones ached, on top of the normal weakness. The pressure in his head had come back so badly he was considering asking the driver to pull over so he could throw up in the gutter. Howard hadn't said anything the whole journey, just sat with his chin in his hand, gazing out the window. Although it upset Vince that he obviously wasn't really forgiven, the whole not talking part of it suited him fine. He couldn't really breathe anyway and he was pretty sure that you needed air to be able to talk. In an attempt to clear his constricting airways he coughed discreetly, covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to hide it from Howard. Feeling something warm and wet hit his hand, he looked down, horrified to see blood. More than before. If this was anything like last time, he only had a minute or two before he passed out, and with no Naboo there to save him, he wouldn't wake up. Except it wasn't Naboo that had saved him before, it was the….Shaman Juice! Vince couldn't decide whether he was more excited about the fact that he might not die on the floor of this cab, or that he had finally come up with a plan of some sort. He dipped his finger into the bottle of Shaman Juice and put it to his lips. Almost instantly he could breathe a little easier and his vision started to swim back into focus. After a couple more dips into the bottle he felt like he might even be able to hold his own weight when he got out the taxi. The green liquid tasted almost like absinthe and burned his lips. He shivered in spite of the fire that was spreading through his veins and he suddenly understood what Naboo meant. His breathing eased and he sucked air gratefully into his lungs, only to find that it felt like he was breathing in red-hot grains of sand. The feeling returned to his extremities as the blood started pumping again but it was agony, as though his blood had been replaced with battery acid.

The Shaman Juice had removed the cause, but not the symptoms, Vince thought wryly. The power running through him was too much for his tiny frame; he was almost vibrating with it. He took a sharp intake of breath, causing Howard to look up at him,

"Y'alright?"

"Yeah," Vince hissed, gritting his teeth with the effort of pushing air over his vocal cords, "I just really miss that cape,"

Howard snorted and went back to looking out the window. Vince stuffed his knuckles into his mouth and bit down in order to stay silent.

When they arrived, he painted on another layer of sunshine in an effort to look happy and relaxed, unwilling to let the Shamen see the effects of the Shaman Juice that were so apparent to him. After all, he was fairly certain it wasn't the loss of the magical artefact that was the real issue that had landed Naboo and Bollo in so much trouble here – Naboo used the Star of Astaroth as a coaster and he had definitely seen Saboo using a fairly important looking scroll as a rolling mat for his joints – it was the fact that Naboo had been using it on him that was the issue. And even if it wasn't, Naboo had told him he couldn't have any more of the Shaman Juice and he had disobeyed him. All the same, he could feel the eyes of the Shamen boring into him, silently interrogating him as he twirled his hair as innocently as he could.

That night, when they had got home, Vince tried to apologise again to Howard. Naboo and Bollo had stayed with the other Shamen for a massive party (Vince had heard Tony Harrison shout 'We're gonna have it large!' after their retreating taxi). The side effects of the Shaman Juice had subsided slightly, whilst leaving him still strong enough to be in Howard's presence. He had been almost glad when Dennis took the potion out of his hand - he wasn't sure if he could make the choice between dying and feeling like that again.

"Howard, look. I didn't mean to tell Naboo it was you that put the rubbish out the back. I just got confused and then – "

Howard cut through his words with his hand,

"It's alright, no one can say that Howard Moon doesn't know how to forgive. I warn you now though, you pull anything like that again and I'm going to come at you like a bee. A swarm of bees. Look out Vince, they're angry," He said, waving his fingers around Vince's head, "you've stolen their honey and now they're coming for you,"

"No way!" Vince exclaimed, batting Howard's hands away, "Bees love me. I'm like their Queen Bee. We'll probably go off and start a colony together. Besides," he said, nudging Howard's arm playfully, "You wouldn't come at me,"

"No I wouldn't," Howard hung his head. His humiliation was tangible in the air, "I'd leave. Leave and not come back. You would never hear from me again,"

Vince swallowed nervously, unsure of what to say. After all, didn't that sound like not such a terrible thing? In the end he had mumbled his excuses about it being a busy day and how he needed to go to bed, leaving the Maverick looking bemused in the lounge.

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	11. 11th hour

**Hi, as always, thanks so much for reviews. Sorry for the delay in posting this especially as I said I'd be posting another chapter last weekend but unfortunatly real life got in the way. **

**I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

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Things had gotten so bad for Vince that he could barely see, barely walk. His brush with death in the DRA had weakened him more than even Naboo suspected. Not that Howard had noticed, he had been barely speaking to him - still bitter about his being sacked, Vince guessed. There existed a kind of frosty truce between them that made Vince want to shake Howard just to force him to look him in the eye for once. Naboo had ordered him a wheelchair from the shopping channel but for now he was having to struggle on and try and avoid Howard as much as he could.

Not today though, it was Howard's birthday and he wouldn't pretend he had forgotten, he couldn't. He had once let Howard down on his birthday before, promising him a bouncy castle and spectacularly failing to deliver.

_It was his twelfth birthday and Howard the unpopular child was fast becoming Howard the socially unaccepted adolescent. Just a few weeks before, he had turned up at school one morning with a thick growth of hair on his top lip. The other kids had found it hilarious, shouting 'Tom Selleck' at him in the playground and making Howard duck his head in shame. The overt bullying of Howard; as opposed to the barely concealed sniggers and amused stares had started a few months previously; and although Vince had smoothed it over with the ringleader, he suspected Howard hadn't forgotten it. A change seemed to have come over him. His childish sense of fun seemed somehow diminished, he seemed…melancholy? Was that the word? Vince wasn't sure._

_Vince had been fascinated by Howard's moustache – it looked like a plush caterpillar. That or a cappuccino stain, he wasn't sure. 'It's genius,' he had said to Howard, 'does it keep your face warm, like a scarf for your mouth?' Howard had just scowled in response and so Vince had reached out to see if it felt as comfy as it looked when Howard had snapped at him, 'don't touch me'. Vince drew back his hand as though Howard had tried to bite it off – it was the first time Howard had said those words to him, and the look in his eyes when he said it sent a shudder through him. _

Howard hadn't even seemed happy it was his birthday. Vince couldn't help but find that a little odd. After all, birthdays were times for presents, and games, and attention, and cake, and eating red jelly and ice cream and everybody being extra nice to you. Although, Vince supposed, if his parents were like Howard's, perhaps he wouldn't like birthdays that much either. For his eleventh birthday they had given him a bicycle repair kit. Maybe that would've been alright but he didn't even have a bike – his parents had told him that he could save up for the bike out of his pocket money. Vince had just wanted to show Howard what it would be like if he had normal parents, ones that let him have birthday parties, hoping it would make him happy; and had told him he was hiring a bouncy castle for him. Howard had been so excited and told everybody, pleased that for once his birthday was not going to be the lonely affair that he had already become accustomed to. The other children had been sceptical at first but in the end agreed to come to his party. He even bought himself a birthday cake out of his bicycle savings fund, knowing his parents disapproved of that sort of thing. Vince was just pleased to see him be the centre of attention for once. It wasn't until he went to the shop, on the morning of Howard's birthday, to hire the bouncy castle that he found out that they were pretty expensive, much more than the £4.50 and the liquorice bootlace that he had. He was so embarrassed at his naivety that he ran away and left Howard to face the angry mob on his own.

He wouldn't disappoint him like that again, he vowed, and exaggerated the bounce in his step, feeling his smile stretch taut across his face as he wished Howard happy birthday. Howard wanted a quiet night in but Vince couldn't face the close contact that would entail. However, he couldn't bear him spending the night alone with that nutter, Lester Corncrake, and suggested a big party, confident that he could avoid Howard for most of the night, maybe just hide in his room until it was all over. Howard took some convincing until a pretty girl came into the shop and asked about the party. Vince wasn't surprised that she did – after all, he had just promised her £20 to come in and help persuade Howard, anticipating the argument - but what did surprise him was the ease that Howard went along with the suggestion, exaggerating about his legendary parties like the bumberclark he was. He felt more than a little needled that he would be so easily swayed by a stranger when he, his best friend couldn't sell him the idea,

"Unbelievable," he snorted

"Yep, still got the moves," Howard retorted, swaggering smugly up to the counter. Vince had to take a deep breath and cling on to the edge, his knuckles white with the effort it took to stop his knees buckling.

"I've been trying to get you to have a party for ten years – nothing. One girl comes in, bats her lashes at you and you melt like warm nutella,"

"You're just angry Vince, because she liked me and not you," Howard threw his head in the air and stormed off. Vince tried to work out what exactly had annoyed him so much but his head was so fuzzy he couldn't think. Was he jealous, of Howard? Of the pencil case girl? Any further thought was interrupted by the pencil case prostitute coming back to get her money. Vince nearly spat in her face before he reminded himself that she had only done what he asked.

He spent all day in his room alone, lying on his bed with his eyes closed, gripping onto the covers in an attempt to stop the world spinning. Howard popped his head round the door to see if he was ok but Vince shooed him out, telling him it was important party preparation. After a few minutes he heard the door click open again,

"Go away," he groaned, not even bothering to lift his head.

"It's me," lisped Naboo. Vince cracked open an eye and squinted at Naboo standing in the doorway, one hand on hip, holding a steaming mug in the other.

"Vince, you look terrible. Drink this,"

"Is it magic?" Vince asked weakly,

"No it's Ovaltine. It will make you feel better though," As Vince struggled to sit up, Naboo pressed a stethoscope to his chest, frowning, "You know you've only got a few days left, tops, don't you, even after that Shaman juice you swiped,"

Vince's jaw hinged open,

"How did you…?"

"You were all jittery, like a frog that needed a good squeezing. Don't worry, none of the other Shamen noticed. Good job too otherwise we'd both be dead by now. I told you not to take it again though – things could get a lot worse now. I warned you about the shaman juice – it's bad. Bad ju ju," Naboo shook his head sadly, pity and despair in his eyes, cursing himself for his inability to help his friend, "even that bell end Howard is going to start noticing soon,"

"I know," Vince nodded bravely, jutting his chin out, "I just want to stay for Howard's birthday, just a few more hours,"

"And then what? Go and die in a gutter somewhere? You've got to go now – if we get you to the hospital there might be something they can do. I know you want to stay for this party but this is really getting ridiculous. And we both know there'll just be another excuse tomorrow. Bollo can't even look at you, he's so upset, did you know that? And besides, you really think that you killing yourself with stubbornness is the best birthday present you can give Howard?"

Vince stared down at his hands folded in his lap in an attempt to stop them shaking. He knew he was right, honestly he did. But Howard wouldn't understand any of those things if Vince just took off now,

"Just a few more hours," he repeated with a resolution that surprised even him.

"Well in that case, I'm glad I bought that black robe to take those goth girls out, because this party could well become your funeral," he turned to go, then turned back again, forcing Vince's face up to look at him, "Vince, please, see sense!"

Vince shook his head stubbornly. He wasn't going to let Howard down. Naboo sighed,

"Fine, but I just want to warn you that the entire Shaman Council is going to be at the party tonight so try and keep a low profile – neither of us are their favourite people at the moment. Now try and get some rest, I'll keep Howard busy so he won't come near you again for the rest of the day,"

"Naboo, will you promise me something?"

"It depends," Naboo considered as he perched on the end of the bed, "Some things cannot be promised, and some promises cannot be kept. But I will try,"

Naboo, like all Shamen, knew better than to blindly promise anything – that was how they had distanced themselves from their cousins, the genii. Still, Vince's wide blue beseeching eyes held the same power over him as they seemed to over most other people.

"If I do die, tell Howard it was drugs or something. Tell him you didn't know about it until it was too late. I don't want him blaming himself and he'll need his friends around him when….when…if – you know," Vince finished, hanging his head.

Naboo nodded slightly before leaving the room.

He managed to get a couple of hours of fitful sleep although he kept jerking awake from horrible nightmares and shivering himself deeper under the duvet. It wasn't until Howard knocked on the door and told him the party had already started that he was able to get up.

Of course, it wasn't long before Vince got himself into trouble. He had been drinking too much, flirting too much, ignoring the dull thudding between his ears. Things were starting to get blurry, he noted, glad that he had been able to mask the effects of the poisoning with alcohol. He hadn't been able to drink for weeks but today it seemed like a relief.

Somehow he found himself in a game of spin the bottle with Howard and some random girls. Thankfully, before he had to kiss any of them, or worse, watch Howard do the same, Naboo broke it up, although not before he had tricked Howard into admitting he was a virgin. Vince was surprised, although not shocked – he had suspected as much. In all their years together, he had never seen Howard have any success with a woman. He didn't know what he was missing out on – Vince had discovered at an early age, the appeal of the slip and slide of one hot, naked body against another and had taken to it like a duck to water; fast discovering how to use his body as currency to get what he wanted. He found himself wondering idly whether Howard would be a good lay.

It wasn't time he had wondered that. He had seen him dancing occasionally in clubs or at parties in the past – awkward and self-conscious and with a lack of rhythm that was surprising in a musician. Vince had always just assumed he was a terrible dancer until one morning when he was about sixteen and had stayed the night at Howard's parents', he had got up early and walked into the kitchen, to see Howard dancing around to a jazz record. The easy confidence with which he moved his body, swaying from side to side and singing along gently to the record had amazed Vince and he had crept off before Howard had seen him, not wanting to spoil the moment. That was the first time he had wondered what Howard would be like in bed.

He was so distracted by the memory of Howard's languorously rolling hips that the next thing he knew, he was in the stock cupboard with an extreme sports calendar model, and more worryingly the head shaman's wife. This was just the kind of attention that Naboo had warned him to avoid. All of a sudden the party seemed too crowded, the colours too bright and the music too loud. Plus the idea of an angry, jealous Shaman out for his blood didn't exactly put him in the festive spirit. Using what little strength he had left in his skinny arms, he pulled himself up through the skylight onto the roof, where he found Howard.

* * *

**Well, we all know what's coming next don't we!**

**Thanks for reading please review.**


	12. 12th of Never

**A/N Thanks to all reviewers. Sorry this has taken so long to update but Christmas is sneaking up now and I'm super busy. Anyway, i hope this was worth the wait.**

**I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

* * *

"Hi," Vince said awkwardly, as he climbed up onto the roof. He might not be the brightest crayon in the box but he knew that Howard was embarrassed about his accidental revelation and really just wanted to be left alone. He also knew that two feet away from his northern friend was the last place he should be but there was something about him that drew him to him, like a magnet or something - there always had been.

"Hi, what are you doing here?" Howard asked, his voice gruff.

Vince ran through multiple answers in his mind, 'because I felt so ill I had to escape the party I organised; because I can't stand the sight of all those shallow twats down there, pissing their lives away; because I missed you' but just went with the simplest explanation,

"The head shaman's gone metal, he thinks I got off with his wife. He's threatening to chop my 'ead off. What are you doing here?"

He clambered up to sit next to Howard, tasting copper on the tip of his tongue as he stared into Howard's angry face. The cool night air seemed to sooth Vince's aching head slightly.

"I'm in hiding aren't I?"

"What?"

"I'm hiding from the shame, the embarrassment that is my birthday party,"

Vince felt a stab of guilt that once again, he had ruined Howard's birthday. He looked down to see that Howard's wrist was red raw – he had been sitting up here giving himself Chinese burns - and tried to smooth over Howard's anguish; as much for his own comfort as Howard's,

"Oh come on Howard, it doesn't matter you're a virgin, it's fine. Women respect that. They don't mind that you've not gone beyond a kiss," Howard's eyes slipped shiftily over the horizon, unable to meet Vince's gaze,

"You've never kissed anyone have you," Vince guessed and saw by the slight twist of Howard's head that he was correct. He was stunned. Sure, Howard dressed badly and his chat-up lines were pretty poor but even Bollo had more luck with the ladies than that. He though of the times that he had steamed in when Howard was making shy advances towards a woman, and stole them off him and felt unspeakably cruel. Had he always been so blind, so ignorant of his friend? Was it only because of the gulf that now existed between them that he noticed?

"So?" Howard reacted aggressively.

"Have you ever held anyone's hand?" Vince asked. He was glad that he was so practiced in the art of keeping tremors and gasps of pain from his voice – it helped hide the shock as he imagined the solitary life that Howard must've been living under his own nose.

Howard cringed under Vince's speculative gaze. He couldn't blame him for his ignorance entirely – he had misled Vince on more than one occasion; telling him that he was going out on a date, getting dressed up and then spending the evening in the park on his own, feeding the ducks,

"You know I don't like people touching me ok. Anyway, I've had deeper relationships in my mind, at a distance, than you'll ever have in your lifetime, you know that,"

"Are you talking about the incident with the binoculars?"

"That was never proved, ok?"

Vince couldn't help himself, he never could. Even when they were younger, even at the zoo with Jack Cooper, Vince had found nothing more amusing than winding Howard up and watching him go, and now he fell as easily into the old routine as a needle into the grooves on one of Howard's jazz records. What made it all the funnier was the way Howard always seemed to get himself into those kinds of situations, without ever learning his lesson.

"It was in the Guardian!" he laughed, in the high pitched, protesting voice that made Howard stutter and go red as he struggled to embellish whatever lie he had told. However, this time he looked Vince straight in the eye and spoke with a confident tone that stripped away all the ridicule. His words cut Vince to the core – how could they not? Howard may has well have said 'I don't want to be like you',

"Look, I don't flit about, I don't play the field alright. When I make that leap across the physical boundary, it'll be forever Sir,"

The faint humming in Vince's ears got louder as he stared challengingly back at Howard, willing himself not to feel ashamed. However, any retort he may have had died on his lips as the head Shaman leapt up through the skylight brandishing his sword. Vince started – he had forgotten all about him,

"Ah, there you are, you prancing Kingfisher. Prepare to die!"

"Yeah, look mate, I'm not interested in your wife. We were just standing in a cupboard together,"

Surely Dennis must know that Vince had lost both the ability, and the interest, to do _that_, weeks ago. He could barely muster the energy to brush his teeth, let alone do anything any more energetic nowadays. However, the head Shaman was in a jealous rage, and was too angry to see sense,

"Just in a cupboard with an extreme sports model? I don't think so," he sneered, cutting through the air with his blade.

"Honestly, I'm not interested in your wife. I'm in love with someone already,"

"The lies of a backtracking worm,

"I'm in love with Howard," Vince blurted, turning to stare at his friend's stunned face. He hadn't meant to say Howard, honestly he hadn't. His was just the first name that came to mind. Howard didn't laugh in his face, or flat out deny it, but nor did he look that pleased about the idea, or even bother to make an effort to be convincing, either.

"Oh…yeah, we're in love," he shrugged, as though he were saying yes to a cup of tea.

"Prove it," challenged Dennis, his voice dangerously low.

Vince tried to think of a better plan than the first one that sprang to mind but the plan pony had long since fled the paddock and besides, he had never been strong on expressing his feelings verbally, usually letting his body do the talking. He bit back the bile in the back of his throat at his proximity to Howard and dragged a breath into his ravaged throat as he looked desperately into his eyes. He noticed that, although small, they really were rather beautiful – deep chocolate brown flecked with gold.

Offering a silent prayer that Howard would play along, he leant in and crushed his lips to Howard's. Immediately his body was wracked with pain and he would've crumpled to the floor if a strong warm hand hadn't grasped him at the waist - Howard. His touch seared his side like a ret hot pair of Nicky Clarkes and his lips felt as though they were burning; yet Vince pressed himself closer, wondering at the softness of Howard's lips. The kiss was nervous, awkward but still sweet. Vince felt something deep inside him explode but he didn't care – it felt like fireworks. His blood pounded a deep bassline in his head and stars danced in front of his vision, as his entire universe seemed to implode into the point where he was connected to Howard. He saw a bright light and instead of fearing it, he ran, clawed his way towards it He almost laughed as the only French words he had ever been able to remember swum into his consciousness – la petit mort.

He was shocked when Howard started to pull away but felt too weak to protest, gasping at his absence. Vince had forgotten everything around him and was surprised when the head Shaman cleared his throat and excused himself, embarrassed. Vince was just amazed that he was still able to hold himself upright, albeit barely. He felt as though he was transparent, made of paper and would crumble to dust at the slightest touch. The fact that he was still alive at all seemed unbelievable, even if he was only tethered to the earth by the finest thread; he must still be protected by the remnants of the Shaman Juice in his system.

He started when he saw Howard looking at him curiously, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He had seen that look a hundred times before, on the faces of girls or boys he met at clubs just before they asked him to go back to their place, or to join them in the toilet, or scrawled their number over his chest in lipstick. Hell, he had even seen Howard look like that before, although never at him, it was more often directed at Mrs Gideon or any other woman that didn't reject him out of hand. But here, now, on the roof, with Howard looking at him like that, Vince felt like Howard had invented that look just for him. The whole scenario felt faintly ridiculous, as though they had stumbled into someone else's lives and somewhere Romeo and Juliet were confused to find themselves bickering over who was the better sales person. However, what surprised him the most about the whole thing was the fact that he wasn't disgusted by Howard looking at him like that, in fact the only thought in his head was how he had never felt more cursed than in that moment, knowing that him and Howard could never be together. Not when his touch felt like fire and ice and just being near him was killing him.

* * *

Down in the floor below, the dance floor heaved to the sound of Fleetwood Mac's full length unedited version of Sara. Dennis crossed the room with easy strides, slinging his sword over his shoulder as he gave Naboo a barely imperceptible nod.

When he had found the weasel that had been in the cupboard with his wife, and it was none other than Naboo's housemate, he couldn't help but breathe a slight sigh of relief. Methuselah may be beautiful beyond measure but there was about as much chance of this boy being able to act on his desires - even with a full bag of owl beaks - as there was to get a fish to wear a dressing gown. He was barely hanging onto life as it was, anyone could see that. He personally cared little about this, holding humans in only slightly higher regard than cattle, or slugs, but Naboo seemed fond of that pair of idiots on the roof. Dennis wasn't sure how fond but he wasn't prepared to test whether it was stronger than his allegiance to the Shamanic code, or worse, whether it was stronger than Kirk's tenuous hold on his deranged temper.

He had been tossing and turning at nights trying to think of a way to resolve the problem. Naboo had already seriously flouted the rules where these two were concerned and Dennis didn't doubt that he would do it again, if the opportunity arose to help his friends. He had managed to convince Kirk not to simply kill the pair as he had wanted but he didn't know how much longer he would keep his promise. He knew that Naboo may appear laid back but if Kirk did take matters into his own hands then a line would be drawn and Shamen would quickly line up on either side to, eager to fight. He remembered as well as most Shamen, the Great Shamanic Wars of the 1300's – brother turning against brother, friend against friend – and he wasn't overly keen on something like that happening again, not on his watch. Despite widespread and popular opinion, Dennis had not been made head Shaman for nothing - he was a quick thinker and good at keeping control. The Shamen were a proud and fierce breed and Dennis often considered his job to be half overseeing Shamanic business and half keeping a lid on the bitching and backstabbing that went on within the Shaman community, although some would say it was more like a 70/30 split. Keeping the peace was like hanging on to the reins of an unruly horse and Dennis had started to feel himself slipping out of the saddle recently.

However, when he came upon the cursed one, his shrewd mind worked quickly and he was pleasantly surprised that the situation might be manipulated to suit all concerned, including the humans. He had seen the fear in the young man's eyes, and well he might, because he had had every intention of killing him if his moustachioed friend didn't come to his rescue. He had to mean it otherwise the terms of the curse would not be fulfilled. However, as he'd hoped, his friend had helped him - had saved his life for a third time - albeit rather more erotically than Dennis had suspected he would. Now things would start to happen of their own accord and Naboo wouldn't have to worry about keeping the boy alive.

The rest of the board wouldn't suspect his meddling, Dennis knew. He looked around the party and saw that they were all far too intoxicated to feel the shifting of fates as any more than a slight queasiness that they would put down to the shots of tequila that Saboo had made them all do. He smiled at the crisis he had averted and went to find Methuselah. Nothing made her hot for him like when he was possessive.

* * *

Naboo looked at his wrist. A vintage Casio digital watch was beeping. Bollo and Naboo looked at each other, then back to the watch face.

"Well it's happened then, the third time," Naboo sighed with relief before taking a deep swig of his drink.

"You going to tell precious Vince now?

Naboo grinned slightly,

"Oh no Kirk would have my balls if I tell him anything else. This is nothing to do with us now. I think it's best we stay well out of it,"

"I got a bad feeling about this,"


	13. Unlucky for Some

**A/N – I'm back! Sorry for the delay but Xmas/NY got in the way - hope you all had a good new year etc. This chapter's been a long time coming but it is quite lengthy. I also have to say that the chapter names will be coming to an end as of the next chapter as the story has grown a bit since I planned it out and there are a couple of extra chapters that are slipping in after this one, throwing the names out. I don't think they really make any difference anyway though.**

**D/C – I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

Vince laughed awkwardly,

"Thanks Howard," he said, more to break the tension than anything, It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, it was just saying thank you was a little out of character, especially now days.

"Thank you," the intense look in Howard's eyes scared him a little. It was a million miles away from the disinterested look that he had worn a few moments ago. Vince likened it to the look that he himself had worn as he had lifted his mirror ball suit off the sewing machine for the first time.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily, inching backward. Every cell in his body seemed to have realigned itself, making him hyper aware of his friend in front of him. Every movement Howard made seemed hugely exaggerated.

"Thank you for the gift of love,"

"It was just a kiss," Vince almost laughed. Kisses were cheap, meaningless to him – a way of getting someone to buy him a drink or give him attention. However, seeing Howard's face all lit up made him feel horribly jaded. He almost wished he had gone through life in a borderline monastic fashion, like Howard, so he could be as excited about this….whatever it was.

"Come on, a light went on in my head then. You have flicked my switch baby," Howard looked almost blissful, as though he was about to slip off into a jazz trance.

"Look Howard, you've got to stop falling for people when they give you the slightest bit of affection"

"Don't pretend you don't love me"

"Love!?"

As the word slipped from between his lips he tried to bite it back. The tone sounded ridiculing and hurtful, even to him. A memory swum to the surface of his mind – Howard confessing his love for him before, in an icy cavern, moments from death. And then, like now, Vince had laughed at him, thrown it back in his face. It wasn't that he wanted to be with Howard or anything and he was certain that Howard didn't want to be him - not really, he'd be happy with anyone that would have him – it was just he'd like to word it a bit less hurtfully. Tact had never been his strong point. He was shocked and full of admiration that this time, however, Howard didn't crumple into a ball of hurt but instead pulled himself up a little straighter and set his jaw challengingly.

"Oh yes,"

"Howard, you've gone mad!"

He had, surely. Like he had already said, the idea was preposterous. Howard would like anyone that gave him the time of day. _Like Old Gregg? _His subconscious asked. 'Shut up subconscious', he thought angrily. Ok maybe Howard would draw the line at sea monsters but that was about it. _What about Eleanor?_ 'I thought I told you to shut up!' Alright, alright maybe Howard didn't like everyone that gave him attention but other than those two……Vince gave up on that point, unable to think of anyone else. He struggled to remember the other part of his argument; that he didn't want to be with Howard, that was it! Why on earth would he? He was unfashionable, cowardly, dropped Vince like an unflattering hat at the first sign of trouble. The times he had saved his life he had done it unthinkingly, unwillingly and then ungraciously in that order. Worse than that, he had used Vince to get himself out of a tight spot or even to get something he wanted.

"That's what this is all about!"

Vince didn't even know what Howard was talking about but argued against it anyway, just as he would argue black was white or night was day because that was just what they did.

"No it isn't,"

"Me and you!"

"What do you mean, me and you?" Even as the words were leaving his mouth he knew he had lost that argument because it had always been him and Howard. Ever since they met they had barely left each other's sides for more than a day or two. Whatever Vince did, he wanted Howard there with him and whatever Howard was doing, he was more than happy to go along for the ride. Like brothers. _Brothers_! Nothing more.

"The arguing, the bickering, it's all because of the sexual tension"

Howard leaned in closer and Vince could just catch his tweedy scent. His skin was silverish in the moonlight and his eyes sparkled like diamonds. It was like he had been transformed. Vince wanted to reach out and touch his skin to see if it was cold and hard like metal. But he couldn't. Not now. He almost hung his head in his hands as he remembered that as horrible the two of them would probably be together, there was no way of finding out. This was probably the last time he would see Howard. Maybe that was why he was even thinking of him in this strange new way. Or maybe it was the Shaman juice. Naboo had said it might make him go wrong. He mumbled more to himself than to Howard in despair at the impossibility of the situation.

"No no no no"

"The deep powerful molten sexual tension that's been brewing up between us" Howard looked so passionate, so earnest as he spoke. Vince could see his hands clenched up into fists.

Vince laughed reflexively, "I don't think it was,"

It was true, he didn't _think_ it was. He always thought it was because he loved the way that spots of colour rose high on Howard's cheeks and his moustache twitched slightly when he realised that he had lost yet another argument. Vince was the first to admit that he wasn't an academic but he had studied this expression to the extent that he could pass any exam on it. Still, he couldn't be sure.

"Yes, you've shown me the way," Howard was still looking at him in the almost reverential way that reminded Vince of the time he had been drugged by the yetis.

"You're going to fall Howard," he warned, although his words went unheeded.

"You've given me the keys,"

"The keys to what?" Vince was still inching backwards away from Howard's advances. He didn't know how he was still alive but alive he did seem to be. However, he wasn't over keen on pushing his admittedly overstretched luck any further. He could still taste Howard on his lips, making his blood boil and he feared that one more touch really would finish him off forever.

"The keys to a whole new kingdom. A whole new kingdom of gaydom. I'm a gay! I'm a massive gayist! Whooo! Pucker up"

Vince leaned back to avoid Howard's burning agonizing kiss again and felt himself overbalancing, slipping backwards. Instinctively he reached for Howard, hoping that he might be able to anchor him to the roof but instead they both toppled backwards. The fall seemed to take longer that Vince would've thought it would – it felt like they were falling for days. He half expected to see his life flashing before his eyes but there was nothing; just Howard, his eyes screwed tightly shut in fear. He gripped onto his shoulders, pulling himself closer to the maverick as they hurtled through the air and his eyes shot open. As cool blue met warm brown a thought hit Vince so hard he thought that they had become reacquainted with Mr Ground – Howard was his life. Every thing that had ever happened to him, every emotion he had ever felt, Howard had been there by his side. Even when Howard was landing him in trouble or leaving him in the lurch it was another experience shared. Even the times he had made fun of Howard or treated him badly were only fun because Howard was there, acting like, well, _Howard_. Did that mean he loved him? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that it didn't matter anyway – it was all too late.

And after that, the ground finally did catch up with them. It was softer and bouncier than Vince imagined. For a moment he wondered if his longstanding wish had been granted and the world was indeed made of marshmallows but as they flew back skywards he looked down and saw a blur of blue canvas. The bouncy castle! He had rung up and ordered it earlier that day, hoping that Howard would see the significance. After a few more bounces they came to a stop and Vince could see from the soft smile on Howard's face that he could. And just like that they were back to normal, gently bickering and teasing each other. Back to normal. Almost. Vince could still feel it, the buzz of _something_ between them, radiating even above the haze of pain he had become accustomed to.

"Howard hi," pencil case bitch came strolling out into the garden.

"Hi," Howard replied, looking pleased to see her. Vince couldn't imagine why. Even without the knowledge that she had basically prostituted herself earlier, she was nothing special, Vince sniffed – he could see her split ends at ten paces.

"Happy birthday," she smiled.

"Thank you, you came back," Howard stood up, turning his back on Vince. Vince could hear the surprise in his tone and smiled bitterly. His heart still felt as though a hummingbird was caught in his rib cage and he suspected he'd have trouble standing even if he was on a stable surface. He just watched for a moment, wondering what exactly was going on before he couldn't hold his tongue any longer,

"Err yeah sorry, what's going on 'ere?"

"She came back!" Howard smiled at him simply.

"Yeah, did she? Great. I thought you loved me," Vince wondered at the shrill tone that had entered his voice, almost panicked. He was aiming for sarcastic but it was definitely sounding more like…desperate?

"Yeah that was a momentary lapse," Howard dismissed him like a child who was asking idiotic questions and embarrassing the grownups. Vince didn't even know why he was making such a big deal about it instead of laughing it off but all of a sudden he felt like his and Howard's roles had been reversed, making him unsure and nervous. He could feel a flush of embarrassment start to creep up his neck but carried on, petulantly,

"Listen, fiddler on the roof, we kissed up there, yeah"

"Keep it under your hat, what goes on the roof stays on the roof,"

That stung. Howard couldn't be ashamed, surely. Not of him. He was Vince Noir Rock and Roll Star.

"Maybe I should leave you two alone?" Pencil face girl asked. Vince had forgotten she was even there and turned to her angrily,

"Yeah, you're getting it. We're having a few relationship problems. Maybe you could nick off and get us some twiglets,"

"Don't go anywhere, wait there," Howard told her sternly,

"Vince, you're a great guy but the timing was off,"

That was when he saw it in Howard's eyes – the pity. His head span as he tried to comprehend exactly what had happened. The fact that he was lucky to still have his life was all but forgotten as he put his hands on his hips and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Unbelievable – I've never been chucked in my entire life and now I'm being chucked by you,"

"Come on, you'll meet someone else," Howard reached out and tried to touch Vince's shoulder but Vince shrugged him off roughly, as much out of anger as the avoidance of his touch that had become second nature to him throughout his illness.

"I'll never love again!"

And with that he stormed off inside. He didn't know why he was so angry with Howard but he definitely was angry. How dare he mess things up between them? Stirring up things that should have been left alone and then dismissing the fall out, like lighting a fire and expecting there not to be any smoke. It wasn't that he wanted things to be any different, Vince muttered to himself, his fists clenched as he ran upstairs, trying not to cry, he just wished the whole affair hadn't have happened. He didn't want to kiss Howard in the first place, he certainly didn't want his love, not the creepy sycophantic stalking that seemed to be the only love Howard knew how to express. And as for never loving again – Vince wasn't even sure he was capable of love. He didn't love Howard, he couldn't, the notion was ridiculous; he just…he just. Vince decided to stop thinking and start drinking.

* * *

Vince picked his way out of the bedroom, stepping delicately between the discarded cans, cigarette butts and other debris that signified a monumental party had taken place and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. The last thing he remembered about the night before was running inside and leaving Howard with that girl, and then doing some shots with Bollo. He had woken up in his bedroom fully clothed and with his hair in a complete state. Howard's bed hadn't been slept in.

Saboo and Tony Harrison were passed out in the kitchen. Vince shook them awake gently,

"Time to go home, guys," he said, and they shuffled out the door, groaning and mumbling things like 'oh my head' and 'never again, my tentacles feel like they are going to drop off'. Vince wondered momentarily about the safety of them flying a magic carpet whilst obviously still intoxicated, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment, like where Howard had spent the night. Judging by the fact that he felt like shit, he deduced that he couldn't be far away although he was forced to concede that that might have just as much to do with the half bottle of gin he polished off as Howard's presence.

As he looked round the deserted living room, he noticed that the particularly large pile of rubbish on the sofa seemed to have a pair of legs. A pair of nutmeg coloured, corduroy clad legs. Brushing the cans and pieces of paper to one side, he found Howard fast asleep, head lolling down onto his chest, fully clothed and definitely alone. Beaming like a hundred watt bulb he called Howard's name softly into his ear until he woke with a particularly loud snort. Vince bit back a giggle at the fact someone had drawn a pair of glasses onto his face.

"Where's your friend?" he asked. Howard looked around disorientedly as if expecting her to still be here or the party to still be in full swing. After a moment he swiped his hand across his face,

"I don't know. I was telling her my story, you know, the one about the pencil cases, and she said she needed the toilet. That was….six hours ago," he croaked, squinting at his watch. As pleased as Vince was that she had left, he felt a flash of anger that she had treated Howard so rudely. People were always laughing at Howard, never taking him seriously. Yes, people were, usually spearheaded by himself, Vince admitted to himself slightly shamefully – the real question was, why did he suddenly care?

Putting it down to a bout of sentimentality brought on by his imminent death, he decided now was as good a time as any to get out of there, especially as he'd promised Naboo that he'd leave that morning. He had been lucky to survive the party but he suspected his luck might run out sometime soon, especially judging by the pounding in his chest, the tightening of his lungs. He had never felt like this before. Maybe this really was it.

"Howard…I'm leaving,"

"What?"

"I'm going away Howard, I'm….not well,"

Howard just looked up at him blankly, as though he were speaking a foreign language. Not able to bear the look on his friend's face, or answer the questions he knew were coming, he swept out of the flat without another word, retching a little as he slammed the door behind him.

He had only gone a dozen steps out into the frosty Shoreditch morning that what he had done, entirely on a whim, hit him. For one thing, he hadn't done his hair and he was wearing his comfy house clothes, which, for Vince, consisted of black skinny jeans and a tight red t-shirt – not particularly comfortable by anyone else's standards – fluffy slippers, and no coat. Shivering, he hurriedly searched the pockets of his jeans for anything that might come in handy for the new life he was starting out on, and came up with a crumpled £10 note, a button and a Fruit Salad. Kicking a can angrily to the side of the kerb, he cursed that he wasn't a man of action like Howard, who would've undoubtedly gone out decidedly more prepared than this. He didn't even have his mobile to phone Naboo for help. After all, what if he _had_ left it too late to leave. It would be a bit of a kicker if he had to die now, in the gutter, while all his friends were clueless about his whereabouts, even if on some of his more wild nights out, he had suspected that was how he would meet his end. Expression troubled, he unwrapped the Fruit Salad and popped it into his mouth, sucking hard. He wrapped his goose pimpled arms around himself and trudged on. He had been walking for what seemed like hours, wandering aimlessly around the scrubby piece of waste ground that the Council called a park. He was cold, faint, nauseous and had a vicious headache, like being stabbed between the eyes with a knitting needle by Nanatoo. He was desperate for a bath and so far he hadn't even come close to coming up with anything approaching a plan – the plan pony had now been sent to the glue factory. Looking up as he reached the edge of the grass, he was surprised to see the lights of Dalston High Street twinkling under the steely grey sky. He could even see the Nabootique in the distance, although the lights weren't on – Naboo had put up a sign saying 'Closed for Refurbishment' in preparation for a post-party come down. He was amazed he had covered such a small distance, even if he had stopped for a chat with Clarence Gladwick the squirrel for a while. His stomach rumbled ominously as the smell wafting from Dalston Fried Chicken hit his nostrils and his hand curled around the ten pound note.

He peered round the door of the flat sheepishly, not sure of the reception he was likely to receive. Someone (Vince imagined it could only be Howard) had tidied up the flat and the signs of destruction that had littered the room this morning had all but disappeared. Howard started up out the chair. His face pink and shiny looking, as though it had been scrubbed, although a shadow of the glasses still remained. Coming face to face with him made a lump spring up into his throat and a faint prickle of sweat make his palms itch.

"Where the hell have you been, you little idiot? I've been worried sick,"

"Geez Howard, I told you. I wasn't feeling well so I went out for some fresh air. Keep on like that and people might start really thinking you're my dad,"

Vince scoffed, with a bravado he didn't feel. Howard looked deflated. He was suspicious by nature, and didn't believe that was what Vince had meant but he wasn't prepared to embarrass himself any more by challenging him further.

"I know why you did it. Naboo told me," he said knowingly.

Vince balked, stealing a glance over to where Naboo and Bollo were playing X –Box. They had barely even looked up to acknowledge his return. Surely they wouldn't have told him…..

"Yes, you went out just to leave me to do all the cleaning up,"

Vince just nodded, his eyes downcast, "I did bring back a family-sized box of chicken from DFC, though," he said as brightly as he could manage, "I thought you might be hungry after all that tidying up. Leroy was working in there – he's been sacked from the copy centre – and he gave me some free hot wings"

Howard stepped into the kitchen to get a plate and cutlery – something he always did when they ate fast food, which never failed to tickle Vince.

"There's an all day Colubus marathon on channel 39," Howard shouted in, happily, their disagreement forgotten.

Vince flung himself down onto the sofa, sighing contentedly as he flipped the channel over. Howard sat down next to him, his eyes already trained on the flickering screen. Vince sneaked his hand out, pressing it to Howard's arm,

"Don't touch me!"

"But I'm cold Howard, feel," he wheedled, attempting to put the back of his icy hand on the squirming maverick's neck,

"Well, you should've stayed here and helped me tidy up the flat instead of going out wandering the streets. Now, be quiet and eat your chicken, I love this bit,"

Vince shuffled as close as he could get to Howard ignoring the chills it sent down his spine and the way it made his breath catch in his throat. 'Tomorrow,' he told himself, 'I'll leave tomorrow'.

**Please review – This is not my favourite chapter. Sorry if you aren't keen either!**


	14. Chapter 14

**No title for this chapter. If anyone can think of one let me know. **

**Just to warn you there is a bit of bad language in this chapter as well as mild references to drug taking. The rating of this fic will be going up to an M (as promised in the summary) very soon, meaning this story won't appear automatically any more so make sure you add it to your story alerts!**

**Thanks for the reviews it really helps me keep going with writing to know someone is reading.**

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Vince had been sitting in the library for the past hour and had read seven children's books. Needless to say he hadn't moved out of the flat; Naboo seemed to have stopped even bothering to ask him about it. However, that didn't mean he wanted to spend any time with Howard - the mixture of excruciating agony and the equally excruciating awkwardness that had sprung up between them since what happened on the roof the week before made him unwilling to spend more than a few minutes in his company. He had decided that whilst he was on enforced exile from the flat in an attempt to avoid Howard, he may as well try and do something useful with his time, especially as all the people he called friends didn't come out until about ten o clock. He had been in one of those awkward times of day between the shops shutting and it being a decent hour to go to the pub and so had strolled into the children's section, wearing a fringed white vinyl cat suit and cowboy hat and plonked himself down on one of the tiny children's chairs. The staff didn't know quite what to make of him but after a hurriedly whispered conversation, had decided to just leave him to it but keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn't one of _those_ sorts. The head librarian looked over at him suspiciously as he chuckled at the antics of Hairy MacClarey from Donaldson's Dairy.

As he reached the end of book, he felt a vague sense of satisfaction; after all, he hadn't struggled with that one so much and there had been some pretty big words in there. Maybe he should give the reading lark another go. Sighing, he looked up and realised half the lights were turned off and the staff were tidying up. He checked his watch. Seven o clock. Howard would be back from Jazzercise now. He had gone out, throwing his bag over his shoulder, just as Vince had been getting ready. Howard had stopped even bothering to ask him if he was going out in the evening any more, just accepting it without a word instead.

He reluctantly left the library for the chill of the dusky evening air, pulling his cowboy hat down lower over his eyes as a couple of teenage girls walked past him giggling and whispering to each other, wishing for once, that he wasn't quite so recognisable – he really wasn't in the mood for talking to another fan.

He started walking aimlessly down the pavement, trying to muster up the enthusiasm for another night drinking virgin cocktails in a crowded night club, listening to the inane chatter of the drunken idiots he used to enjoy spending time with. After getting drunk at the party for the first time in ages, he had hardly drunk again. It had stopped making him feel like the world was spinning off its axis but it made him _think_ things. Things about Howard. It must be the bloody Shaman juice, he had told himself angrily. Still, not drinking was a pretty poor alternative. Honestly, if one more drunken sweaty girl, (or man, he was the confuser after all) came up to him, their eyes rolling around loosely in their heads and asked him if he wanted to go back to their place, or more often, the toilets, he would scream. The glittery scales of alcohol had been lifted from Vince's eyes and he could see the seediness of his former life in all its squalor.

Seeing the neon sign of the all night café he often went to, flickering in the twilight, he decided to waste a few hours in there before he sought his usual crowd out. Maybe Charlie would even come and visit him like he had taken to, recently.

He was approaching the counter, his eyes scanning the room for an empty table, when he saw Howard sitting in the corner reading a book. What was he doing here? Howard hated coffee shops, deeming it a waste of money to pay a couple of pounds for a tea bag and some hot water. He was about to sneak out the way he came but at that moment Howard looked up and their eyes met. _Damn_, he thought, trying to decide whether to acknowledge the jazz maverick or just to pretend he hadn't seen him and turn tail and run out the door. Steeling himself to spend a few minutes in the presence of the very person he was trying to avoid, he waved to Howard, trying to look pleased to see him.

"Can I get a hot chocolate and one of whatever that guy in the corner wants thanks Myra," Vince asked, flashing the ancient looking woman behind the counter a cheeky grin. He could feel his heart beating erratically already, and Howard was over the other side of the room.

"About time, he's been hanging his nose over that cup of peppermint tea for the last hour. That's £2.80 please," she said, ringing the drinks into the till.

Vince handed over the money silently, his brain cell racing. If it wasn't for the fact that he had spent so many hours doing exactly what Howard was doing now, the fact probably wouldn't have hit him so hard. Howard was killing time, trying to stay away from the flat for as long as possible. He had made him do that, feel like the flat wasn't his home anymore, that he was a stranger to his own friends. Vince had been trying to push him away and it was working. Only Howard didn't have it in him to leave – didn't have the imagination to start a new life so he just stayed in his old one, miserable. Vince knew it was his fault that Howard couldn't go, on top of it being his fault that he wanted to. He had had the perfect chance to go and make a new life with the bin men and he had dragged him back again. Feeling more guilty than he thought was possible, he wove his way between the tables to where Howard was sat.

Sitting down opposite him, he slid the cup of tea across the table to Howard, smiling apologetically,

"Sorry if I'm interrupting you or anything,"

"No it's alright," Howard smiled back wearily. There was a moment's pause as they both stared at their steaming cups,

"What are you doing here?" they both simultaneously asked, before both laughing self-consciously. Vince gestured for Howard to go first, mainly to give himself some more time to think of an excuse,

"Well, I needed a bit of peace and quiet to think, I'm having a bit of trouble with my poetry at the moment,"

"What, the cream poetry?" Vince asked, leaning forward on the table, for once his voice free from mocking. He was genuinely interested – it had been so long since he and Howard had really talked. Howard seemed to notice the shift in atmosphere and opened up,

"Yes. To be honest, I've come up against a bit of a brick wall. I was thinking of branching out, maybe trying some beige poetry,"

"No way! You're one of the leading cream poets of your generation!" Vince didn't know if that was true or not, but Howard always said it, so Vince thought it might make him feel better. Instead, he reddened slightly,

"Well, you know, I'm a multi faceted being, I can be the master of two genres, of many genres. Not like you, all you've got is fashion,"

"That's not true!" Vince started indignantly, contradicting Howard more out of habit than any real conviction in what he was saying.

"Vince, what do you like other than fashion?"

"I like…retro…furniture, and Mick Jagger,"

"There you go. I have a deep and complex character,"

"Shit off, you're about as three-dimensional as a Ritz cracker. It's always jazz this, jazz that,"

"Hush now, I have many layers. I'm like an onion. People call me Howard Moon the human onion,"

"What people?"

Howard shifted in his seat slightly, his eyes scuttling around nervously. After a long pause he replied, in that tentative tone that Vince delighted in recognising as the voice Howard used when his exaggerating had finally backed him into a corner and he was being forced to flat-out lie to escape.

"Neville Bamshoot,"

"No he doesn't, he calls you the dirty lurker, after that time he caught you hanging round the back of his house,"

"Shut up. The important thing is that I'm like an onion,"

"What, you make people cry?"

"No – "

"You have thin papery skin like a pensioner?"

"No! Look, the thing is Vince, I have many layers, layers that you can't hope to comprehend,"

"I know layers, my hair's full of them,"

"No, layers like the layers of music on an acid bewop track. First there's the trumpet with a skiddly do wow, then comes the drums -"

"Oh, those kind of layers. I don't want them. I'd rather be shallow and transparent like a puddle,"

"Anyway, what are you doing here?" Howard asked, changing the subject. Vince almost thought he could see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips for a second.

"I thought I saw Pete Neon come in here. He's lost his tag and I need to get him again. He's still my most sought after celebrity," Vince lied through his teeth. Howard looked around at the unlikely surroundings for one of London's top pop stars but seemed to buy it, Vince thought gratefully, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

As Vince put the cup down, the trembling in his hand made it rattle against the saucer. He saw Howard's eyes flick down to it, then back up to his guilty face, but neither of them said anything. Vince felt like he had been caught out in a lie.

Howard stared out the window, his head nodding rhythmically and his mouth moving almost imperceptibly, as though he was counting to himself. Vince saw a movement, almost hidden by the table – Howard was gripping his wrist tightly, rubbing at the flesh until it looked sore. He reached across the table to stop him doing it but Howard pulled his arm roughly away,

"Vince, are you on drugs?"

"What? No!"

"Don't lie to me, you idiot. What the hell have you been taking?" Howard's hands were balled up into white knuckled fists and the rage in his voice made Vince cringe away from him.

"Nothing, I don't know what you're talking about Howard. You've gone wrong!"

"Vince, look at you. You've lost weight, you look like hell, your skin's a mess," Vince fingered the spots on his chin that he thought he had managed to cover up, "Your personality's completely changed, you've got tremors. I'm sorry I didn't notice before, Christ, even an idiot would notice. I've been so blind, so wrapped up in myself. We can get help though,"

"I'm not on drugs – I wouldn't. I promise," Vince insisted, glad that he was wearing long sleeves so that Howard wouldn't see the marks on his arm from where Naboo had been taking blood for tests and giving him vitamin shots.

"Oh come on, are you telling me you've never had a line of coke in the dirty toilets of some filthy club because you weren't quite drunk enough to fancy the girl you were supposed to be fucking and you thought it might liven you up, or one of Leroy's shady mates that you wouldn't trust with your pet goldfish, let alone your life, has offered you an e and you've felt too embarrassed to say no,"

Vince shuddered at the pictures Howard's words had painted for him. What he was saying was a bit too close for comfort. It was like Howard had reached into his mind fridge and pulled out a couple of slices of memory pie, and it did not taste good. Little did he know the number of nights Howard had lain awake when Vince didn't come home, to imagine these very scenarios, and worse ones besides.

"That's a bit different from what you're saying – that I'm a junkie or something. Besides, I aint even got a pet goldfish," he smiled, trying to lighten the mood, whilst managing to not confirm the answer to Howard's question that hung between them.

"Well then what is it? Because something's wrong with you,"

Hearing the blood thud sickly in his head, Vince cranked his sunshine smile up a notch, feeling it stretch tightly across his face and dug his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself hyperventilating. That really wouldn't do right now. He couldn't lie to Howard's face but contented himself with lying's slightly nicer little brother: diversion,

"Do you trust me?"

Howard looked at him, shocked by the directness of his words. Vince wondered if maybe he had been expecting him to come out with something about an albino sea horse or a pair of magic boots or something.

"Yes," he replied, cautiously, although Vince couldn't help but notice how his gaze slithered past him and came to rest somewhere over his left shoulder. Instead of dwelling on that, he stood up and held out his hand to Howard,

"Then come with me,"

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**Reviews would be lovely!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks to Mowgli In Flares, Vanity Blue and Rose Noir 90 for reviewing the last chapter.**

**As usual, Mighty Boosh is owned by Noel Fielding and Julian Barratt. I Like to Move it is owned by Reel 2 Real.**

**This chapter is HPOV, hope you like it. I have broken one of my personal rules in this chapter (Don't write the Moon, don't write Bob Fossil, don't try and make up a crimp) I hope it isn't too hideous! **

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Howard stared confusedly at the buildings passing by from the back window of the cab. He was too dazed at the fact that Vince had wanted to go somewhere, _anywhere,_ with him, to hear exactly where he had asked the driver to go but it sounded like he had said the name of a very unfashionable part of town. There were no clubs or bars there that he knew of – certainly not the sort of pretentious place he imagined Vince was taking him to. In fact, Howard could only think of one place of worth round where he thought they were going, and he doubted very much that Vince would have any interest in going there. Maybe he had misheard, yes that was probably it.

His mind was still reeling at the possibility Vince might be doing drugs, although he had denied it pretty strongly. He just couldn't quite believe it could be true, even though all the signs were there. He might come home night after night stinking of booze, falling off his ridiculous shoes and needing Howard to hold his hair back as he puked, he might even have a spliff with Naboo after a gig, and judging by his reaction to Howard's suggestions earlier, he had almost definitely dabbled in something that he shouldnt've done. But a junkie? The idea would almost be laughable if Howard wasn't so terrified by the outside chance it might be true. He sneaked a look at Vince who was staring out the window, his face blank and still for once and that tiny bit of doubt vanished. He just looked so serene, his face unlined and expressionless, and calmer than he had looked in weeks. For better or for worse, he believed Vince. But that didn't mean that there wasn't something wrong and he wanted to know what.

As the taxi pulled up outside the Zooniverse, Howard marvelled that Vince had even remembered the old place– he seemed to shed his identity every few weeks, discarding the past like yesterday's newspaper. Never had been so glad to concede he had been wrong. Vince never talked about the zoo, never really talked about the past at all other than sentimental recollections of the most mundane of events that were more a springboard for a crimp than a genuine memory. Not that they even really crimped any more.

There were weeds growing up around the high crumbling brick walls that surrounded the Zooniverse – it had become one of those places that was invisible unless you were looking for it. Howard imagined the people that lived round here walked past it every day without even seeing it, and had ignored it so much it had just disappeared. A 'FOR SALE' sign hung precariously from the railing but it, like the walls, was blackened with years of London grime and soot. The place had been condemned years ago and the land had been left derelict. Vince leaned tentatively on the rusty iron gate and it swung open with a shrill squeal that made them both look around guiltily. They both let out a collective gasp at the sight inside. It looked so sad and forgotten. Part of the zoo had been demolished but it looked as though the builders had gone home one day and never come back again. That must have been some years ago, Howard deduced by the thick vines that had grown over the piles of bricks,

"You coming Howard?" Vince called over his shoulder.

Howard, of course, followed. He could almost see the ghosts of the animals in the broken cages, see the shadow of a young Vince skipping around in a poncho, a bucket of feed swinging from his hand. The now-Vince; the one with paler skin, less meat on his bones and a sillier outfit wandered between the cages slowly, running his hand over the bars. Howard still followed him. He could feel it too, the pull that was drawing him further into the zoo. A flock of birds sat atop a pile of broken bricks, pecking at the rubble,

"Look Howard, Penguins," Vince breathed, moving carefully as to not scare them, "Do you think they're from the zoo?"

"Well they're hardly indigenous are they?" Howard snorted.

Vince twittered and squawked to the birds, and they replied. Howard looked on in amazement. He hadn't seen Vince talk to an animal in years – it was another thing he had been sure he had forgotten.

"They got left behind when the zoo closed, Howard," Vince explained after a short conversation, "Can we take them home and look after them?"

"No! Where would we keep them? Naboo would go spare, and you know how Bollo and penguins get on," at the mention of Bollo's name, several of the penguins hissed and fluffed up their feathers aggressively, "Besides, look, they've gone feral,"

Vince looked despondent and waved sadly to the penguins as they continued deeper into the grounds, away from the destruction of the diggers to where the zoo was more or less untouched. When they reached Naboo's old kiosk, Vince laughed out loud, it was so eerie to see. Naboo's hand chalked sign 'Back in 5 minutes' remained over the hatch and he could almost imagine the Shaman inside, having a quick mid day spliff. The only hint that all was not as it was, was the burnt out wall behind the kiosk – the secret entrance to Dixon Bainbridge's lair was completely destroyed. Howard shuddered at what secrets that fire had covered forever. He noticed that Vince had come to a stop by the path that led to their old hut, seeming reluctant to go any further,

"You don't want to go visit the old place, little man?" he asked gruffly, emotion at the flood of memories that was threatening to drown him, causing his voice to crack.

"What's happened Howard? How did it come to this?"

"Time – Old Father Time has worked his magic here as he does everywhere, like a game (chess). Nothing lasts forever - "

"I meant with us," the haunted look in Vince's big blue eyes stopped Howard's rapidly-gathering-pace monologue in its tracks.

Howard took a step towards him, his arm outstretched to touch him on the arm but Vince shrank away, scared. Howard felt an tiny piece of his heart to break away at the thought of how his usually affectionate friend had become cold to him; after all, he was supposed to be the one that didn't like being touched. Little did he know that Vince had learned from bitter experience that Howard's touch felt like acid to his skin.

"I don't know," he admitted sadly, hanging his head. Truly he didn't, and even that fact demonstrated the distance between them. There was once a time where Vince had asked him everything and anything that popped into his head, a hundred questions a day it seemed sometimes, and Howard always had the answers. He couldn't help but feel like he'd let the younger man down,

"People change,"

"You mean I've changed," Vince countered accusingly,

"We both have,"

Had he changed, Howard wondered. He thought himself so constant but maybe there had been a hardening to his personality, a shortening of his temper towards Vince where once there had been almost infinite patience. Maybe the simple urge to protect Vince had been left behind, when it became embarrassingly and repeatedly obvious that he was more than capable of looking after himself. He was ashamed to admit it even to himself but there had been times, recently, that, far from protecting Vince, he had thrust him into the path of trouble. He tried to tell himself that all's well that ends well, no harm done, and that Vince forgave him but thinking about it too much, especially at night when he couldn't sleep, made him wonder if he'd let _himself_ down. He was a coward, so far from the man of action that he aspired to be. But he wasn't going to be a coward now, he wasn't going to brush Vince off with a glib remark, he was going to _try_.

"Life seemed so simple back here," Vince murmured wistfully, the sunshine smile that he usually painted on his face gone.

He looked so small, Howard thought, smaller than he did when he was in his element, in front of a crowd. With his brash front seemingly gone for the moment, Howard tried to build some bridges, reaching out the hand of friendship and feeling adrenaline pump through his body as he hoped it would not be rejected

"What's done can be undone sometimes though Vince. Maybe we've just been taking each other for granted, letting too much slide. Both of us. But I want to make things better between us, if you'll let me try. Why don't we go home tonight, get a takeaway, maybe work on some new songs?"

"I don't know Howard…." Vince was worried in that moment, more than he was worried that spending the evening with Howard would kill him, that if they spent the evening together, they wouldn't get on, that it would be painfully obvious to both of them that they whatever it was that connected them in the past had been stretched too far, like a slinky that had got twisted up going down the stairs the wrong way and could never be coiled back again. He saw Howard's eyes pleading silently at him, saying what he didn't dare voice. Instead of saying anything else, he just carried on down the path to the hut.

Howard watched Vince enter the hut but he couldn't go in. There were just too many memories. He ran a hand over the back of his neck as he thought back. They were fresh back from travelling when they had started at the zoo - he had started there first, then Vince a few weeks later. The few weeks without Vince had been hell, although he took comfort in peering through the railings and catching sight of Vince waiting for him to finish, even though the Zoo still had an hour left before it shut. When he eventually came out, weary and work worn, Vince would be like a kid, bombarding him with questions about his day and offering to carry his bag for him. That had been back when Howard was living with his parents and they had walked back to his house where Mrs Moon had cooked them both tea.

When Vince had started work at the zoo he had been overjoyed. It felt like home to him – more than Bryan Ferry's had, and more than any of the care homes or orphanages he had stayed in since. That was why, about a year after they had started work at the zoo, a couple of months after Vince's eighteenth birthday, when Howard had been entrusted to open up the zoo one morning because Dixon Bainbridge was off on an expedition, Fossil never got up before eleven and all the other keepers had been on Joey Moose's stag do the night before, he had found Vince sleeping there.

_Howard had got in early, the magic of the zoo still alive enough in him to find the idea of walking around the deserted zoo without anyone else there, thrilling. He had ventured off the frequently trodden tourist paths and was wandering around the disused service areas, ostensibly doing security checks but in reality, just being nosy about an area of the zoo he had seen little of. That was when he'd heard it – a small whimpering cry. He had searched all around for an animal trapped on the barbed wire that marked the boundaries of the zoo but had been unable to find anything and was about to give up when he heard it, louder this time, coming from an old hut that had been used as a grain store years ago but had lain empty ever since. Pushing the door open tentatively, Howard gasped as he caught sight of Vince lying curled up on the damp concrete floor, his __Zooniverse__ jacket balled up under his head, murmuring to himself and moving fitfully – clearly having a nightmare. Too shocked to wake him any more delicately, Howard shouted out,_

"_Vince, what the hell are you doing here?"_

_Before his eyes were even open, Vince was in motion, sitting bolt upright, his arm snapping out to check the time on the tiny plastic alarm clock that rested on the floor next to him,_

"_Shit__ have I overslept? I mean, I wasn't sleeping here," _

_Looking up and registering for the first time that it was Howard standing before him, he seemed to visibly relax, pressing his hand to his chest,_

"_Thank God it's you. I thought it was Bainbridge,"_

"_What are you doing here Vince?" a thousand permutations ran through Howard's mind but none of them seemed satisfactory,_

"_I'm eighteen," he replied simply, still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pulled his green jacket on,_

"_So?"_

_Vince looked at Howard like he was a complete idiot,_

"_So, I'm an adult. With a full time job! You don't see many adults living in Children's Homes do you. Even the name makes that quite clear, besides the furniture's all little – I was like a giant in that place,"_

"_And you thought this was the better option?" Howard asked, looking around the dirty cold hut. _

_He thought back over the weeks since Vince's birthday and baulked. He had left the Zoo with him every night, Vince chattering away happily, before he turned off down the road to where he had been supposedly staying. Howard even remembered that Vince had told him he was moving ('It's right near the Zoo, Howard, it's genius,') and he hadn't given it a second thought; Vince was always moving around from home to home. He must've left Howard on the corner and doubled back before sneaking back into the zoo every night. Howard dreaded to think how the boy had been living, what he had been eating. He cursed himself for his sheltered existence and selfishness to not see what had happened and Vince for not telling him about this in equal measures.. _

"_No, I didn't choose it silly, they kicked me out and I didn't know where else to go. I thought I'd just sleep here for a few months until I saved up enough for a deposit on a room somewhere. But I'm doing fine here, honest Howard. Just please don't tell anyone will you Howard? Howard?" he called after his friend's rapidly retreating form. _

_Howard marched straight into Bob Fossil's office, thankful that his boss had made an appearance before he had a chance to calm down. Fossil, upon seeing Howard enter the room, reached for his cassette player but Howard was too quick, authoritatively placing his finger over the 'Stop' button before more than a couple of bars had blared out. Fossil hadn't even had time to stand up,_

"_Sir," he said seriously. His face was grave and Bob Fossil noticed, looking up at him and letting him continue without protest, "There's been a break in round at the back of the zoo. It doesn't look like anything's been taken but there's a big hole in the fence,"_

"_Geez Howard, Bainbridge is gonna have my nut sack for this. None of the guys in the stripey jerseys have escaped have they?"_

"_The what?"_

"_The stripe coats, the four legged growlers, you know – the __stripey__ furry biters,"_

"_The Tigers?__ No I counted them up, they're all still there."_

_Fossil breathed a sigh of relief as they both remembered the debacle of a few months back – they hadn't left the headlines of the local papers for weeks. _

"_I can patch up the hole but I think you need to consider employing some security, after all the…" Howard chose his words carefully, "intruder, might come back,__" Fossil__ eyed him sceptically,_

"_Oh I don't know __Howard,__ those guys are pretty expensive,"_

"_I'm not talking about hiring anyone in. One of the keepers could stay overnight, just to keep an eye on things,"_

"_Is this another excuse for you to bunk up with that fox huh, Moon?"_

"_No, they could stay in the old grain store at the back of the zoo, out of sight of people,"_

"_That old barn?__ I wouldn't let my dog live in there and I don't even have a dog,"_

"_I'll redecorate it myself, make it inhabitable. I'll even pay for it," Howard pleaded, thinking sadly of the savings that he had started to buy the rare Jazz __record,__ Voodoo Scat that he'd had his eye on. Fossil was either too __self__ centred, or slow - Howard wasn't sure which - to wonder why Howard was so keen to help out the zoo and just eyed Howard sceptically,_

"_And who do you have in mind to do it?"_

"_Vince,"_

"_Vince? Little __Vincey__? A__ burglar would snap him like a twig!" Fossil laughed before his face suddenly turned serious, "and we can't have that can we Moon?"_

"_I'll stay here with him!" Howard had blurted out, his voice more high pitched than he'd intended. In the instant that it took Fossil to think it over, Howard had realised the implications of what he had just said. His mother would be heartbroken – his dad had had a stroke six months back and Howard was supposed to be the man of the house now. Besides, what did he know about looking after himself? This was a terrible idea, what was he thinking of?_

"_OK then Moon, but you'll have to take a pay cut to cover the cost to the zoo,"_

_Howard nodded gratefully. __Vince - that__ was what he was thinking of. He couldn't let the little man down. Howard left the Zoo Manager's office without another word. He never did find out why Fossil liked to Move it, Move it. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi thanks so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing - I am super grateful. This is the first fan fic I've ever done and I can't believe it's turned into such a monster so it is nice to get feedback. There are still a couple more chapters to go but we are coming onto the homeward stretch now.**

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Vince ran his hand absently over the dust covered table, upon which sat two chipped enamel mugs, blackened with old mould. He smiled absently at the argument he had had with Howard the morning they left over washing the mugs up ('Howard,' he'd wheedled, 'there's no point washing them up. The whole place is going to be knocked down tomorrow, what's the point?' He had won the argument, as the mouldy mugs were testament to). The amount of tea that they had drunk at that table, late at night by the light of a small lamp, would be enough to float a battleship, Vince was sure. They had talked about anything and everything, sometimes until the sky was starting to lighten again, their throats lubricated with the aforementioned copious amounts of tea that Vince had brewed in the old fashioned kettle on the stove. Howard was continually telling him off for leaving on the heat, boiling. He pretended he hadn't noticed but in truth, he just loved the cheery whistle it made, filling the room with steam and making it feel like home.

Other than the table, two chairs and the two mugs, the hut was bare, save a thick coating of dust – they had taken all their personal belongings with them when they had left, and it had never been luxuriously furnished in the first place. They had found a lot of the furniture in a skip but to Vince it had seemed like a palace, especially after how he had been sleeping before. He shuddered at the memory of when Howard had found him that morning.

_He had spent the whole day worrying about what Howard was going to do – he didn't see him the whole day and he wasn't waiting to walk home with him after work either. He was probably too annoyed about the fact that Vince had been pretending to walk home with him for weeks, he assumed. As he opened the door to the grain store that evening, his nose was assaulted by the smell of fresh paint. His jaw dropped open as he saw Howard standing in the middle of the hut, smiling broadly. The walls had been painted, the window had been glazed, the electricity had been reconnected and there was carpet on the floor. Howard explained that earlier that day, Fossil had approached him and asked him to be a live in keeper in case any of the animals got sick in the night or there was a break in, and Howard had asked if Vince could be his assistant and stay with him. That was the moment that Vince had realised he was lucky – the kind of person that lucky co incidences just happen to when they are needed most. And some of it had rubbed off on Howard, apparently Fossil had given him a pay rise to stay and be the live in keeper (Vince had been irritated that he wasn't getting a pay rise as well, until a couple of months later he saw one of Howard's pay slips. He earned even less than he did, Jagger knows how little he'd been on before the pay rise)_

_Vince looked around, stunned. This was the nearest he'd ever had to a home of his own. Howard said that when he got back there, he had just found it like that, that Fossil must've arranged it. He was amazed Fossil had managed to decorate it so quickly, after all the place had been a wreck a few hours ago, but then he supposed when you had access to Dixon Bainbridge's unlimited wealth and large gang of shady but muscle bound staff, that kind of job could get done pretty quickly. He ran at Howard ready to wrap his arms around him but Howard stopped him with a curt "Don't touch me," as always. Still, Vince slipped out unpeturbed and shoplifted a bottle of Bucks Fizz from the shop down the road to celebrate but when he got back to the hut he found Howard asleep on the floor in a sleeping bag, an identical one rolled out next to him. He must've been touching the walls when they were wet, his hands were covered in paint, Vince thought, hoping that he hadnt made a mess of the walls. He just smiled down at him for a few moments, thinking 'poor old Howard, he never was much of a party animal', before climbing in._

After a few weeks they even had running water put in and a stove. A lot of nights, Howard used to make soups for their dinner with vegetables he had swiped from the animals' food supplies – it was all they could afford really, but it made Vince feel so content when he got in to find the room full of delicious homey smells that he wouldn't have wanted anything different. They even made up a special song to celebrate their 'soup nights', as they affectionately called them. The corners of Vince's mouth curled up as he recalled it and he mumbled under his breath, 'Soup, soup, a tasty soup'.

As he took another step into the room , something crunched under his feet. He bent down and picked it up – it was a tiny pin badge of the world, that Howard had bought him when they got back from travelling, promising that when they got a bit more money together they would go and tour America together. He had pinned it on his zookeepers jacket so he could look at it while he worked, like an emblem of what he was working for but after a while it had fallen off. He had long since given it up for lost but it must've been here in a dusty corner of the hut, right in front of him all those years. They had had so many big ideas back then, especially Howard – he was going to be a poet, a jazz musician, an explorer. How had he gone from that to the kind of man that was content to live out his days working for minimum wage in a second hand shop in Dalston?

Vince knew the answer to that, and even thinking it made him feel sick. He had crushed Howard's spirit with a thousand cruel remarks and pranks. Howard had never been the most prepossessing of creatures but at least in the days of the zoo he had had his pride – standing up to Vince and even looking down on him at times. Now he was just…deflated. He took the path of least resistance, even if that meant sailing his friends down the river in the process, because Vince had taught him through bullying and jibes that it was best just to keep your head down and try and do alright by yourself.

Oh Vince wasn't imagining for one second that Howard was in any way innocent but for every betrayal, every occasion of prostituting Vince out for the promise of a map, there was a distraction that left Howard alone, having to play the part of gigolo to an over amorous she-male. Likewise, for every time that Howard got them into trouble, trying to impress electo girls, or goth girls, or any girls for that matter, it could be countered with an instance of Vince getting them thrown off a boat and into the sea, for giving the captain a mullet. They were equally guilty of misdemeanours, the difference was that when things went wrong for Howard he really took it to heart – years of childhood bullying had seen to that - and Vince just made things worse, dropping loaded comments and personal insults into the mix, chipping away at him until all that was left was what he was now – a sad, lonely, frustrated man who had to rule over stationery empires in an attempt to control something in his life.

Vince clasped the badge in his hand, striding from the hut with a sense of purpose that he hadn't felt in years. He imagined that this was what cartoon characters felt like when they had a light bulb appear over their head. Things were going to change.

Howard had been waiting for him outside, scuffing his toe in the dirt like he used to do when he was a child. He didn't want to admit it to Vince but the old place was giving him the creeps. As he saw Vince approaching he lifted his head and carried on the conversation as though Vince had never left,

"So how about tonight then?"

Vince did his best to look nonchalant,

"Nah, I don't think so, I said I'd meet Leroy for a drink and then we were going to try a new club. Maybe some other time yeah? I think I'm free one evening next month,"

Howard crumpled like an old crisp packet, utterly humiliated,

"Oh…ok then,"

Vince was unable to look at his disheartened face any longer and strode out of the zoo to flag down a taxi for them both. They rode back in a silence that was as solid and impenetrable as a brick wall. As soon as they got as near to their home as Howard would believe that Vince might be going out there, Vince asked the taxi to pull over at a nondescript bar and got out without even saying goodbye. As the cab sped off, Vince let out a shaky sigh of relief at not having to feel the iron bars of guilt crushing his chest that the hurt and betrayal emanating from Howard, as well as his very presence, gave him. He opened his hand and looked at the tiny pin badge in his fist. He had been gripping it so tightly that the rusty pin had gauged a hole in his hand, leaving a pool of blood in his palm. Closing his fingers again around the badge he renewed his vow, the one he had made to himself in the hut – that he was going to stop holding Howard back and help him realise his dreams at last. This sick, twisted co-dependant relationship that used to be a friendship was killing Howard as much as it was killing him, he could see that now, except Howard didn't have a Shaman's curse, just Vince. The only difference was that he had the advantage of knowing about it and could do something, a final act of kindness for the man that had been the other half of the same coin to him for as long as he could remember. He was going to set Howard free.

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**There you go - sorry it's just a short one**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry it's been so long since I posted a chapter - I'm not abandoning this or anything, just been mad busy but I'm back on it again**

**As usual thanks for all reviews and to people that have added me to favourites/alerts**

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Howard was gone. Vince had practically packed his bag for him (well, he had popped a couple of packets of haribo starmix into the bag but that was as far as he went – touching that volume of natural fibres would have brought him out in a rash).

The night Howard had left, they'd fought. Oh, they'd had arguments before but nothing like this. Howard had dumped his packed bag on the floor next to his bed and sidled up to Vince who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, making Howard a customised passport holder.

"Little man?" he had murmured, perching himself on the end of Vince's bed. Vince felt his heart flutter painfully and his throat constrict at Howard's presence.

"Mm hmm" he mumbled without looking up, knowing that if Howard could see his face he would notice that he wasn't able to keep his voice from quavering. All the moisture from his mouth seemed to have taken a little holiday to palm island.

"Am I doing the right thing? Going away. I mean…" Howard ran his hand through his hair, "Do you want me to go? You could come with me if you wanted, I know you like it round here but I know how you sometimes get anxious when we're apart, and after Monkey Hell I promised I'd never leave you again. Or I could stay here – I'm sure there'd be other chances at acting,"

Once he started, the words kept tumbling out and it took Vince a few seconds to work out what he was saying. The thought that Howard was prepared to give up on his dream for him, even after the way he had been treating him, made tears prick his eyes but Vince swallowed them back and set his lips into a hard line, his face a mask of indifference. He'd become good at this recently, trying to hide his illness from Howard. He knew if he faltered now, Howard would stay and he would die, and so he chose his words carefully. After all, he had gone to so much trouble to set up this way for Howard to find a better life, and leave him without feeling guilty or looking back – arranging for Howard's hero, Jurgen Haabermaster to be at the show (and even paying Bob Fossil to come in and mention it to Howard, so he wouldn't be suspicious), to be sat in the prime spot to see Howard's 'acting', even setting Sammy the Crab up for a fall and fitting Howard onto the bill in his place – and he was damned if it was all going to come to nothing now,

"Listen you Northern Bassoon, I can't wait for you to go. It's not like we've got anything in common any more. Do you really think I want to be stuck with an aging Geography teacher like you?"

Vince saw Howard's face go from confusion, to anger, to embarrassment, to hurt in a matter of seconds. He sighed, although any relief he might have felt in the knowledge that he had saved his best friend from the fate of finding him dead in bed one morning was overtaken by the guilt he felt at causing Howard pain. He tried to remind himself he was doing it for Howard's benefit; that he would be better off without him but it was cold comfort. Howard rose stiffly, turning his back on Vince but then he seemed to draw himself up and spun on his heel to face Vince, his eyes shining with tears,

"Well Sir, You might not like me but I will always consider you my friend, my best friend, and I will always be here if you need…if…" Howard started to choke on his words.

Vince felt a strange mixture of pride that Howard had finally grown a pair and rising panic that he might have to say something worse to make Howard leave. Howard took a step towards him and Vince's hands automatically flew up to protect himself,

"You're killing me!" he cried shrilly. He lowered his hands and saw that Howard had stopped, his face ashen. Unable to meet his eyes, he fiddled with the passport holder in his lap,

"I mean, I can't live my life with you around. I'm always having to look after you, instead of doing what I want. You're stifling me,"

Howard opened his mouth to speak, raising his index finger in Vince's face before closing it again, grabbing his bag from the floor and storming out. Vince waited until he heard the front door slam before he threw himself down onto his pillow, his body wracked with noisy sobs.

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Naboo looked nervously over at Vince. He was sat on the sofa in a pair of ratty old pyjamas that looked about two sizes too big, with his legs tucked up under his chin. His hair looked lank and plastered to his head and his bones protruded painfully through his pale skin. Naboo did a quick mental calculation and estimated that he had lost a stone – a stone that the skinny bastard could ill afford. Howard had been gone for nearly two weeks now, with no word other than a text to Naboo to say he had arrived safely. Vince hadn't emerged from his room for a whole day after he had left and when he did, Naboo was shocked. The vibrant mayor of Camden was no more and in his place a timid, tearstained wreck. Naboo hadn't expected this to hit him so hard, for the change to happen to fast and in that moment he was tempted to break Shaman law and take the consequences and just tell Vince the truth. Only the fact that he knew how stubborn Vince would be and that he would refuse to believe the prognosis stopped him in his tracks. No, Naboo decided, better to let him just work it out for himself and for him to be there for his friend when he did. Since then he had barely spoken. The only spark of life he had seen in him was when Naboo told him about the text. Quickly he pulled his own phone from his pocket but on seeing the empty screen he replaced it slowly, the spark gone. Leroy had called round to see him a few days ago but Vince just stared at the wall over his shoulder as he told him about the brilliant club he had been to the night before until Leroy had stuttered to a stop, news about the social scene exhausted,

"Everyone misses you," he finished sadly. This seemed to rouse Vince.

"Really?" he spat. "You mean they still remember who I am?"

Leroy spluttered slightly but was unable to reply, for a moment. Vince saw in his eyes that he decided to just tell the truth,

"Lance Dior's back. He's been telling everyone you've gone crazy and you aren't coming back. There was a bit of talk about you at first but it's all dying down now. Lance is trying to bring to bring the Tudor look back. But if you were to show your face, blast him with a bit of the Goth Detective look, I'm sure he would go running off with his ruff between his legs. You'd be back as..."

Vince raised his hand to stop the babble from Leroy's mouth

"What about Howard?"

"What?" Whatever Leroy had expected him to say, it wasn't that.

"What have people been saying about Howard?"

"That bookmark enthusiast? Nothing, why? Has he gone somewhere?" he looked around, as if noticing for the first time that the lanky brown presence was missing. Vince shook his head,

"Get out"

Since then Vince had barely said a word to anyone, although Naboo and Bollo heard him crying in his room at night. They tried to cheer him up, putting his Colubus the Crab DVDs on, leaving packets of flying saucers around the flat in the hope that Vince might get some calories into him. But he just sat on the sofa staring towards the door with his arms wrapped around himself as though he were trying to hold himself together.

It wasn't until one night that they had stayed up for a smoke that they heard a scream coming from Vince's bedroom. Bollo rushed in and emerged with Vince in his arms, still half asleep and wrapped in his duvet, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"Precious Vince have a bad dream," he grunted, laying him down tenderly on the sofa. Vince looked around him wildly, looking for something, before he seemed to come to properly and sank back down onto his elbows, breathing heavily.

"Bollo, go and put the kettle on," Naboo watched as Vince tried to fight back tears, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just had a bad dream s'all" Vince mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the duvet cover. Naboo had had enough of skirting round the issue,

"What about?"

Vince's reply was little more than a whimper,

"Was it about Howard?" Naboo pressed, leaning closer to hear. Suddenly it was like a dam burst and fat tears rolled down Vince's face.

"I dreamt….he…was dead," he gasped, "and it was my fault. Naboo, what if I die and me and Howard have never made up? He'll hate me forever. I don't care about the dying part – I just don't want him to get hurt,"

"Why?" asked Naboo, his voice suddenly demanding,

"Because….." Vince's voice cracked with emotion, "because….he's my friend. My best friend and I…..I care about him,"

Naboo leant back and steepled his fingers under his chin, making a noise that sounded almost like tutting. Bollo crept back in the room, as much as a gorilla can, and sat a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of Vince.

"Is that all?"

"No. I feel like shit that I have never really saved his life. All this time I thought that was what I brought to our relationship, that and the looks and the fashion sense. I pissed the hell out of him but he couldn't live without me. Now I feel like there was just….nothing,"

"I'm sorry Vince, I know that was a shock to you but I saw it in the crystal ball. It was a shock to me too – it seems unlikely in the extreme but I was down the pub with Barry the other night and he's got one of those new crystal balls so I got him to check and the results were as clear as day – Howard has never had his life saved by you or anyone. That wasn't all you brought to your friendship though,"

Vince cut him off with an acidly raised eyebrow.

"No I brought a lot more didn't I – I took the piss out of him and played tricks on him until he could barely take any more, he was so miserable,"

"Is that what you think?"

Vince looked slightly confused but nodded anyway,

"You melodromatic idiot! You didn't make Howard miserable, he does it to himself because that's just how he is. And he wouldn't have you any other way. If you stopped wallowing in self pity for five minutes you'd realise that Vince. Honestly –"

"Why aren't I getting better?"

Naboo stared at Vince his expression deadpan as usual,

"You said if Howard went away I'd get better but I feel worse. My chest hurts all the time. I can't sleep and when I do I have these horrible nightmares. I can't eat – I just keep throwing up. I'm still dying aren't I,"

Naboo and Bollo exchanged glances before Naboo spoke in a confident tone

"You aren't dying,"

"But…"

"You aren't dying. There's a part of the law I didn't tell you. Mainly because it almost never happens - it's so rare I wasn't even sure it was true. Usually the person in your position either never sees the person that saves their life again, _like you were supposed to_, or they….die. At Howard's birthday he saved your life again,"

"On the roof," Vince breathed. Naboo continued as though he hadn't heard him,

"He saved your life again. Dennis is going to be so pissed that I told you this but he ruined my best cauldron at that party being sick in it so he owes me. According to Shaman law that means he is no longer deadly to you,"

"But I still feel like shit,"

"Well your body's had a major shock. It's going to take time to get over it. Plus I warned you about the Shaman juice – it's like battery acid. You're probably still getting over the effects of that,"

"So when that wears off, then what?" Vince asked,

"Then…." Naboo glared at Bollo again, willing him to keep his mouth shut, "Everything goes back to normal. Like it all never happened,"

Vince's eyes flashed angrily and he drew himself up as he digested this truth nugget,

"You mean… you…Howard could've stayed here?"

Naboo nodded slowly. He didn't expect Vince to understand that the Shamanic code prevented him from meddling in the lives of humans, not when he had done so much meddling already but his hands really were tied over this. Still, seeing the young man so angry didn't sit well with him, guilt lying in his stomach like a greasy breakfast after a hangover.

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up, you wanted him gone anyway. You were just saying that you're always doing things to upset him and he'd be better off without you. Maybe you're right. Just the other day you kept writing grafitti about him all over the front –"

"But –"

"No buts. Last month you called the child protection agency and asked for him to be put on the register for -"

"Listen you berk, Howard is ten times the man you'll ever be and my best friend. Those things were only jokes, he knew that. But now he's gone and I'll never see him again and it's all your fault,"

Naboo just raised his eyebrow, glad that he had finally got Vince to realise the truth but not wanting to push his luck by saying anything else. Vince got up to walk out of the room, fixing him with an icy glare,

"I won't forgive you for this, you bastard," he hissed. Bollo growled a warning in the back of his throat. Vince might be precious flower but his loyalty lay with Naboo.

"Oh fuck off Bollo," Vince pushed past him and ran to his room, leaving Naboo and Bollo to stare at each other, gobsmacked. As Bollo went to take Vince's place on the sofa, Naboo put out hand out tentatively

"He didn't mean it you know"

"Me know,"

"It's just the curse. And the Shaman juice,"

The distinctive sound of a mug being thrown against a wall echoed through the flat,

"Why you not tell him the truth?" Bollo asked Naboo,

"Well for one thing, I wasn't joking about Dennis. He sent Saboo round the other day to tell me that when it came to the crunch I better not tell him what was going on. And you know what he's like about the crunch," they both rolled their eyes, "And secondly, you heard him – he can't even admit it to himself what's happening. You know how stubborn he is. If I tell him the truth straight out we'll be living in a war zone for weeks. Best just let it run its course. Howard will come back before long, you know it and I know it – he'll find some way of fucking it up and have to come home,"

Bollo seemed satisfied with that answer and picked up the hash pipe as Naboo leaned over to the table and turned the mysterious cube over in his hands a few times. He should feel pleased – the problem was solved, the case closed like the ending of a thirty minute sit com. So why did he feel like he was still missing something? After a few minutes Bollo began chuckling, a deep rumble low in his chest,

"Give me that, you've had enough," Naboo said, snatching the pipe out of his hands,

"It is pretty funny,"

"What's that?"

"That the Curse mean Vince have to fall in love with Howard," at that he started laughing again.

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**Thanks for reading please review x**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi so sorry I've been away so long..I have no excuse other than the fact that inspiration escaped me. Hope some people still want to read this! **

**Disclaimer - I do not own Grease, or the songs from it. Or the Mighty Boosh**

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Vince sighed, watching the figures dancing around on the screen. Was this what he was reduced to? Watching musicals with the sound off because the love songs set him off again. Was this really his life now? He glanced over at the hot chocolate dripping down the wall as confirmation that yes indeed, it was. He could hear Naboo and Bollo pissing themselves with laughter in the other room about something or other – they were probably just stoned again. For a moment he was sorely tempted to go and apologise and join them in getting absolutely off his nut just to slow down the jumbled mess of thoughts that were rampaging through his brain and confusing his poor brain cell.

He knew he should be overjoyed that he wasn't dying any more but he just couldn't get over the idea that all his planning to push his best friend away was all for nothing. Why couldn't Naboo just have told him? It wasn't that Vince didn't understand the Shamanic code, it was just that he failed to see the importance of it – any set of rules that can be changed to include 'Thou shalt always pay for the rodeo bull' surely couldn't be taken seriously.

His fingers itched towards his phone to ring Howard up and beg him to come back or, better still, let him join him but something stopped him. He had been so convinced just a few days ago that Howard would be better off without him. Now, after his argument with Naboo he wasn't so sure but who was he to be sure. Conveniently forgetting Howard's tears at having to leave him, Vince began to feel a little indignant that Howard had left him, gone off without him to pursue fame and fortune. That was so like him, betraying the moment that a photo of a Yeti or an acting career or the chance to be the chosen one came along.

He wanted to see if Howard would come back to him under his own steam, if he wanted to come back here, to him. He knew he sounded like a teenage girl, pining for Howard but he didn't care. Looking back the screen, he saw the blonde haired figure of Olivia Newton John singing silently, and absently mumbled the words along with her,

"Sandy, you must start anew  
Don't you know what you must do?  
Hold your head high, take a deep breath and sigh  
Good bye to Sandra Dee"

It was then that he saw himself for the first time in days – he was a mess! What the hell had he been thinking going around like this? Thank Christy that Howard hadn't come back already, one look at him would have sent him right out the door again. Vince opened his wardrobe doors decisively, it was going to be a long night.

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The next morning Vince surprised Naboo and Bollo. They emerged from their rooms to find Vince in the kitchen, fully dressed and made up. His clothes were a couple of weeks old and no longer the height of fashion but they didn't notice. Bollo stared in wonder at his glossy hair that had been, only a few hours ago, matted and straggly. Naboo scratched his head, his turban askew from sleep,

"What's going on?"

Vince looked up from the bowl of lucky charms that he was pushing around with his spoon and attempted a wobbly smile,

"Well you said it yourself, things have got to go back to normal. So I am – I might go out to Topshop later and get myself some new stuff then I think I'll speak to Johnny Rhythm and see if he can get me on the guest list for his new club. It'll be genius; everything will go back to how it was before. Just without….without…"

A tear dropped into his cereal and his pushed the bowl away in disgust. Naboo rested his hand on his shoulder,

"Easy tiger, you're going to smudge your eyeliner. Why don't we just take it one step at a time? We could go down to the shop and watch some TV. Wednesdays are generally pretty quiet so nobody should come in and bother us. Then if you feel up to it later maybe we could go down to the Velvet Onion"

Vince nodded weakly, feeling a bit like a failure, and they headed down there. Naboo put MTV on and they spent a couple of hours watching it in near silence. Of course, Vince was only pretending to watch. Really he was thinking about Howard, as always. And Naboo only pretended to watch as well. He was sneaking sidelong glances at Vince, wondering how long it would be before this temporary bubble of happiness burst and what the hell to do for the best. And Bollo wasn't really watching either; he was wondering how Naboo was going to get them out of this mess. So there they sat, Bollo watching Naboo, Naboo watching Vince and Vince in a world of his own. It wasn't until a familiar song came on that all their attention snapped to the television. It was the Black Tubes, led by their new front man, Sammy the Crab. Vince stared at the screen, wondering how he could've been so interested in such a trivial thing before. No wonder Howard thought he was ridiculous. If only Howard was there now, they'd have a good laugh about it. The thought of the two of them laughing together flooded Vince's single brain cell with memories; the two of them in their hut at the zoo laughing together; running around in their vests and pants having Satsuma fights, making Vince laugh so hard he fell over; and Howard think he was having and asthma attack; Howard tickling him until it was all he could do to wheeze the word stop as tears ran down his face. Remembering Howard's hands on him, his fingers dancing up and down his rib cage, brought a sudden flush to Vince's face. For a moment he allowed himself to luxuriate in the memory of what it felt like to have Howard's lips on his, Howard's moustache tickling his smooth upper lip. He started to imagine things that had never happened – that he hadn't pulled away from the kiss but instead pulled Howard even closer to him, that he had slipped his hand up under Howard's roll neck and dug his fingers into his back as Howard took a sharp intake of breath. To hide his confusion and growing arousal, Vince, in his normal manner, just blurted out the first thing that came to mind,

"Unbelievable, his legs aren't even that thin," he scoffed, pointed at the TV. Bollo shook his head in agreement although Vince could feel Naboo's eyes boring into him and he suspected that the Shaman wasn't so easily fooled. Luckily the doorbell jangled and distracted them both. Howard came slowly through the door, looking dejected and mumbled, 'hey guys'. Vince was stunned, it was almost like he had summoned Howard, like the time he had tried to summon a Topshop gift card into his wallet, only this time it had worked. He wanted to reach out and touch Howard to make sure he was real but he didn't dare. Besides, he knew from the sad, beaten look in the maverick's tiny cockerel's eyes that it must be him. In his dreams he always looked happy. He tried to keep the excited squeak out of his voice and almost succeeded,

"What are you doing back here? Thought you'd gone off to see Jurgen?" he sneered, forgetting, with a stab of jealousy that it was him that had driven Howard away.

"What can I say, Jurgen offered me a lot. He offered me money, fame, international art house acclaim, but I thought, do I need this? And I realised, I've got everything I need right here,"

Vince felt his breath catch in his throat as he dared to imagine that Howard was talking about him. Surely he couldn't have forgiven the cruel things he had said or the way he had been acting before he left?

"What would you do without me? I'm irreplaceable," Howard finished with a shy chuckle.

"Adam!" Bollo called gruffly. The boy that Naboo had hired to replace Howard popped his head round the corner as Vince wondered, not for the first time, whether Naboo had hired him because of his resemblance to Howard, in the hope of distracting Vince a bit. It hadn't worked though – Howard was right, he _was _irreplaceable. The pained sneer that crossed Howard's face when he saw him made Vince want to jump up and shout out 'we didn't forget you Howard, _I_ didn't forget you,' but he was too cowardly.

"He came back, you're fired," explained Naboo who was so grateful to Howard for listening to the worried voicemail he had left him in the early hours of the night before, telling him that Vince hadn't meant what he said, that he hadn't been well and that he regretted it deeply but was too proud to say, that he was prepared to go to court for unfair dismissal. He must have set off the moment he had heard it. The bags under his tiny eyes certainly hinted at an overnight flight.

Luckily, Adam didn't look like the litigation type and left sadly with little more that a shake of his head.

"Oh my day, what's this?" asked Vince, turning back to the television. He had spotted Howard's idol, Jurgen Haabermaster on the screen. As the advert for 'Windy Blast Fast' played out, Howard shifted uncomfortably. Vince laughed at him, unwilling to let his mask of Camden bitch slip but secretly his heart swelled. Sure, playing the angry crab of trapped wind was ridiculous but Howard had been telling the truth. He really had been a success. Which meant that maybe he had meant what he had said about wanting to come back. His eyes prickled with tears but he quickly swallowed them back. His stupid stubborn pride wouldn't let him just tell Howard how glad he was too have him back, not when it was easier to fall into the familiar pattern of mocking him,

"Nice work Howard," he laughed, feeling victorious, as Howard looked even more defeated. Howard stepped back and shouldered his bag again, making ready to walk right back out the door he had just come in but Naboo beat him to it,

"Right, me and Bollo have got to nip to Shamansburys, you two mind the shop,"

In a puff of smoke, the two of them were gone, leaving the jazz maverick and the electro fairy alone. Howard just shrugged, staring at Vince combatively, before making for the door. With a frustrated tug at the handle, he realised they were locked in.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi I'm back again with a monster of a chapter. Be warned – this chapter contains lemons and they are juicy! Don't read it if you don't like slash. Also there are a few swears.**

**I do not own the Mighty Boosh**

* * *

"Those bastards have locked the door," Howard said through gritted teeth, thinking that maybe if he just pulled a bit harder it might open. Vince ran over, a horrified look on his face and began to pull at the handle as well. Howard tried not to notice how smooth and cool Vince's slender fingers were as they wrapped around his hand to try and pull the door as well,

"They know I'm claustrophobic," Vince panted as he sank to the floor, already starting to hyperventilate. He leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes, trying to think of large empty spaces. Howard stopped trying the door and sneaked a look at Vince's upturned face. He looked like he had lost weight, Howard thought. Maybe Naboo was right and he had been ill. Surely his cheekbones hadn't always been so pronounced – sharp slashes across his face. And his eyelids, had they always been so translucent?

Vince let out a groan and Howard sat down next to him, pulling his head onto his shoulder. He was still angry at the little tit box, so angry but now wasn't the time for it – there would be something unspeakably cruel about leaving Vince like this without offering him some comfort. He knew how Vince would be feeling now – he had seen him in these attacks of claustrophobia a dozen times before. Vince had never gone into detail but Howard knew it was something to do with when his parents died – Vince had been trapped in the car with them for over an hour before they were freed.

"There there little man," he murmured, deeply inhaling the scent of Vince's hair. It made him feel like he was home and he quickly forgot all of the thing he had meant to say to him, all the cutting remarks he had muttered to himself late at night as he lay in bed. Vince opened his eyes and the naked vulnerability within them almost took Howard's breath away. The anger that he had felt a few moments ago drifted away and he allowed himself to hope, like had had so many times before, that Vince had changed.

There were spots of colour high on Vince's pale face and he tried to pull himself out of Howard's arms, banging on the glass with his fist. His breathing grew faster and more frantic as Howard tried to drag his arms back down to his sides before he smashed the window and really hurt himself. Starting to panic himself, Howard let go of Vince's arms and planted his hands on either side of his face, forcing it round so Vince had no choice but to look into his eyes,

"Vince, shhh. You're alright. You're just in the shop, where we've been a hundred times before. It's just you and me – nothing's going to happen,"

Vince's breathing started to slow slightly. Howard started to hope that the crisis had passed as it always did in the end, until he saw tears brimming in his eyes. This was new. This was not good.

"What is it? Have you hurt yourself?"

Vince whispered something but it took a couple of seconds for Howard to register exactly what he had said. For a moment he felt like he was in a silent film – he could see Vince's mouth moving, his soft full lips going up and down but he couldn't comprehend the words,

"I love you Howard,"

Howard was so shocked he couldn't say anything in reply. He wondered for a minute if it was a trick, like when the girls at school had mouthed 'colourful' at him, and giggled together when he blushed, or worse, tried to return the sentiment in the form of a poem or a note. Vince wrapped his arms around Howard's neck, pulling his head down towards him. Looking at Howard, he wondered if his friend was paralysed with fear. His eyes were closed and he could hear him taking shaky breaths through his nose.

"Fuck you Vince Noir,"

"What?"

"I mean it, fuck you!" He dug his fingers into Vince's forearms, trying to remove him from around his neck, "Of all the things you've said or….this is the worst! This isn't like at my party, you know, there's no bouncy castle now,"

"Howard, Howard – I mean it. Oh Jagger, I wish I didn't but I do," his tone was flat, resigned. He was the calm one now, to Howard's frightened child. Mirroring Howard's move from a moment ago, he forced Howard's head up to look at him, cringing slightly at the defiant look in his friend's eyes. "I'd do anything Howard, honestly, just believe me, I'm not taking the piss. Anything!"

In a move that was so unlike himself that he wondered afterwards what on earth he had been thinking, Howard whispered hoarsely,

"Touch me,"

Despite a thousand orders to the contrary issued from the same lips over the years, Vince didn't need telling twice. He pulled Howard to him, feeling the older man's lips tremble against his. His heart felt as though it was going to beat out of his chest as he brushed his lips lingeringly across Howard's. After a moment's pause, that Vince took, as much to make sure that Howard wasn't going to change his mind, as it was to enjoy the sense of anticipation, he tangled his hand's in Howard's 'brown smoke' hair and pressed his lips more firmly to Howard's. Taking a moment to revel in the soft warmth of Howard's lips, he swallowed nervously, feeling horribly like he was standing at the edge of a cliff with one foot stretched out into nothingness.

Howard's moustache prickled against his upper lip as he deepened the kiss, although it wasn't unpleasant. He started slowly, tenderly, moving his lips against Howard's, the jazz maverick responding much more keenly than he did when Vince had taken him by surprise on the roof. Pulling his head back and opening his big blue eyes to look into Howard's brown ones, Vince opened his mouth and teased Howard's slightly parted lips with the tip of his pointy pink tongue. Howard closed his eyes again with a moan into Vince's mouth.

At that moment, Vince felt like the floodgates were opened within him. Fisting Howard's collar, he lunged at him, attacking his mouth with his own. Their lips smashed together and their teeth clashed in their hungry, desperate kiss. Vince ripped open Howard's shirt, making him look bemusedly down at the buttons rolling around the floor, to be lost forever. Vince knew that later Howard would be less than impressed with that but his desperation to get closer to him was too much. Howard's hands clamped on either side of his face and pulled him back for another kiss as Vince's hand slid inside the ruined shirt. He took in a sharp intake of breath as Howard sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting it gently. Taking advantage of his open mouth, Vince forced his tongue into it, battling with Howard's. There was no longer anything romantic about the kiss; it was raw passion, the desperation to be as close to each other as possible, to own each other completely – Vince felt as though Howard was challenging him, daring him to admit it had just been a joke, and kissed him harder in response.

Vince slid his hands up to Howard's broad shoulder, digging his nails in hard and causing him to hiss through his teeth. They continued kissing frantically, a mess of teeth and tongues, biting and licking, as Howard's hands roamed over Vince's tight top. Reaching down to the hem, he started to pull it upwards as Vince hurried to undo his top button. As he pulled it over his head, their lips came apart with an audible pop. Vince struggled impatiently to get the shirt over his head and off his wrists, growling in frustration as he tried to shake himself free.

Howard chuckled at his impatience although it died on his lips, the moment Vince looked up at him, breathing deeply, with lust-darkened eyes and unnaturally flushed cheeks. The sight of Vince looking so _feral_ shot bolts of desire through his body into his groin.

Desperate to feel Howard's body pressed against his, Vince straddled him, his knees either side of his outstretched legs. Howard ran his hands down Vince's smooth, hairless chest, not minding the absence of a pair of breasts at all. Removing his kiss-swollen lips from Howard's, Vince lowered his head to his neck. He breathed in deeply, the smell that was intrinsically Howard's made him light headed with wanting. He bit down gently on Howard's earlobe, the whimper that this produced in response causing Vince to groan throatily into his ear.

Howard's arms snaked around Vince's slim waist, his hands cupping his buttocks through the thin material of his skinny jeans. Vince trailed hot wet kisses down Howard's neck, his hands splayed across his chest, before grazing the soft skin of his shoulder with his sharp white teeth. As the feeling of Vince's breath on the hypersensitive skin of his neck threatened to overwhelm Howard, he squeezed Vince to him, forcing him upright onto his knees.

Howard sucked hard on Vince's neck, causing him to shudder as pain and pleasure flowed through equally. Vince's hard on throbbed painfully, straining against his tight trousers. Desperate for relief, he leaned in to Howard and rubbed his aching cock against his stomach. They both groaned in unison at the feel of it and Howard's hands scrabbled clumsily at Vince's fly, hindered by his reluctance to stop kissing him roughly, almost violently on the lips. His desperate ferocity sent a thrill deep through Vince as he laid back onto the floor, the tiles cold under his superheated skin.

The fire in Howard's eyes made his breath hitch as he crawled up his body and he opened his arms to pull him in for another kiss. He was frustrated beyond reason, letting out a low growl when Howard paused momentarily to remove his own trousers. He smiled self-conciously as he revealed his saxaphone festooned boxers – a present Vince had seen in a novelty gift shop and bought for him just over a year ago. They contrasted comically with Vince's electric blue, neon trimmed y fronts, although Vince didn't care much about that as he wriggled out of his skinny jeans – he was too busy ogling Howard's erection. He was huge, Vince thought greedily, feeling another wave of arousal wash over him. Howard caught the direction of his gaze and tried to adjust himself.

Vince was too quick for him, however and dragged the pants down to Howard's knees, causing his cock to spring free. Vince wrapped his fingers around it as Howard laid down next to him, and began to experimentally stroke his hand up and down its length. Howard's eyes rolled back in his head and his nostrils flared, gasping and moaning into his mouth and thrusting up into his palm, as Vince pumped his hand harder and faster.

Howard's cock was now slick with his own pre-cum, and with every stroke of it; every drawn out drag of his hand from base to tip, every frantic pump back down again, Vince almost felt like he was touching himself. Every movement he made, he could imagine the ghost of his own hand on his own swollen cock; every moan of pleasure that slipped out from between Howard's clenched teeth, made him impossibly harder.

Feeling as though he was going to pass out if he didn't get some relief, he moved his lips back to Howard's ear,

"I want to be inside you," he whispered, moving back to see Howard's eyes widen in shock before nodding slightly.

Vince pulled off his own pants, reaching for the small tub of Vaseline he carried in his jeans,

"What have you got that for?" Howard asked.

Vice was momentarily distracted and began extolling the many virtues of Vaseline,

"Oh you know, it's good for dry skin, chapped lips, you can put it on your eyelashes to make them grow, you can use it to make glitter stick to your face. Plus it's great for fucking you up the arse," he finished in little more than a growl.

Howard reddened slightly and turned his face away, his eyes conflicted. Vince was keen not to cause Howard any more humiliation than he had in the past and reassured him,

"It doesn't make you any less of a man, you know"

Scooping out the contents of the tin, he nudged Howard's legs apart and worked the jelly around and into Howard's arsehole. He nearly cried out when Howard's eyelids flickered with pleasure as he pushed his index finger slightly inside him to prepare him. Wiping the remainder of the Vaseline out of the tin, he smeared it thickly up and down his cock, nearly losing control like a teenager at the touch of his own hand.

"Do you want me to do this Howard?" he asked as he aligned himself with Howard. Howard bit his lip and nodded, his face flushed deeply.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, fearing the fact that he wouldn't be able to stop himself even if Howard did say no,

"Yes, oh please God yes," Howard mumbled, almost incoherent with desire.

Vince increased the pressure until he was inside, the motion making them both groan loudly. Vince stayed still for several moments - watching Howard's screwed up face as he allowed him time to relax and adjust to the alien feeling – resisting the urge to push himself deeper inside him. After a second, Howard opened his eyes. Vince felt his body relax and he felt safe to move. Coherent thought left his head as he felt the tightness of Howard's muscles pulling him in deeper.

Moving a centimetre one way, an inch the other, Vince saw stars flash in front of his eyes as the inexorable push and pull threatened to take over his senses entirely. This wasn't going to last long. Grabbing Howard's cock with his Vaseline slicked hand, he pumped roughly.

Their breathing became laboured and louder until, with a grunt, Howard thrust upward into Vince's fist and came, thin jets of semen painting his own stomach. Vince felt the waves of his orgasm causing his muscles to contract almost painfully around him.

After a couple of hard, sharp thrusts - before Howard had even finished riding out his own orgasm - the string that had been stretched tightly, holding his mind and body together snapped and he fell into the abyss. He had never felt anything like it – the intensity of his orgasm scared him and he thought he was going to pass out. He slumped down on the older man's body, feeling his arms wrap around him as they both panted raggedly in the silence of the shop.

* * *

"Why did you come back?" Vince asked softly, his head resting on Howard's shoulder, his fingers threaded in fine spattering of hair on his chest,

"Naboo asked me to," Howard admitted. Vince nodded sadly and Howard caught him under the chin with his fingers, tilting his face up to look at him,

"I was worried about you. He said you weren't well. I wanted to…I don't know, check you were ok, look after you?" Vince buried his head back into Howard's shoulder and his words were muffled,

"Even after the horrible things I said?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, the things you said cut me deep, like a sharp knife through soft Philadelphia but I'm a forgiving man. I've had to be, living with you all these years," he conceded with a playful nudge to Vince's side. Howard didn't want to think of the night he'd left, that he'd had to sleep outside King's Cross station because he knew that if he'd gone back to the flat he would have throttled the little bastard, that every night while he'd been away he had cried himself to sleep over a crumpled old photo of the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa in their hut at the zoo. Or that he'd spent most of his two weeks away (apart from when he was working) at least half cut because that was the only way he could keep the pain he felt at how Vince had spoken to him at a low ache, sort of like being tickled with a chain saw. Vince didn't need to know these things, he was the sunshine kid and you didn't crush the sunshine kid. He continued in as gentle a voice as he could,

"Vince, what's wrong with you? Naboo sounded really worried,"

Vince just mumbled a sleepy sounding, 's'nothing' into his chest,

"Nothing?" his voice rose an octave. He knew that Vince only acted so naively when something was really bothering him so why couldn't he tell him. After all he was his best friend, at least until about an hour ago, now they were what? Lovers?

"I flew five and a half thousand miles for nothing? What is it, the sniffles, burn yourself on the hair straighteners again?" Vince's fingers fluttered automatically to the scar on his stomach but Howard was starting to feel the resentment of all those unspoken words bubble up inside him and carried on, "Come on Vince, it better be good, what is it? Infected unicorn bite?"

"I nearly died!" Vince burst out, unable to hold back the words any more. Howard pushed him back as though he had been scalded, holding him by the shoulders to search his deep blue eyes for any sign of untruth. Vince carried on speaking, honesty showing in his face,

"There was a Shaman curse on me, the curse of Kawasaki or something, I don't remember, and when you saved my life by getting the jazz cell out of my body you set it off. I don't really understand it but being near you was killing me. I'm alright now though," he finished as brightly as he could.

"So that's why you pushed me away," Howard breathed incredulously, not sure whether to believe him or not, teetering like he had so many times before, between kissing him and screaming in his face.

"Yeah, sorry about that. You'll have to get Naboo to explain it all to you though I don't really understand it," his wide blue eyes were so full of honesty that Howard had no option other than to believe him. Still, the flippancy of Vince's answer rang like a distant bell, a single note, igniting the old feelings of anger and frustration.

Howard wondered what he would've done if Naboo had just explained all of this to him in the first place. He thought about the three of them, Naboo, Bollo and Vince and wondered why they hadn't thought fit to tell him. Stupid old Howard left out as usual, he thought angrily. He remembered Naboo's apologetic look as he had stormed of the flat, bag in hand and only now understood it. They had all been in on it except him. Quickly forgetting Vince's brush with death in a wave of indignation, he stood up abruptly and began throwing his clothes back on,

"Howard?" Vince looked up, fear and confusion on his face,

"Did you three think I wouldn't be able to cope if you told me? Or that I was just to stupid to understand?"

"It wasn't like that Howard – "

"Oh don't start, this place its just as fucked up as when I left. You don't care about me, never have. To think I gave up my shot at fame and fortune to come back to you,"

"And why did you come back Howard? Hmmm? Was it pity?" Vince's eyes flashed dangerously as he wriggled back into his skinny jeans, "or was it that you were hoping that if I'd gone wrong in the head you might be in with a shot with me,"

Howard's lip curled contemptuously, "Anyone who buys you a flirtini is in with a shot with you, aren't they"

"Well that just shows, you aren't anything special then are you," Vince spat back, his face white with rage. If Howard had thought he was angry at the thought of being laughed at, he was wrong. The idea that he had just been another of Vince's tricks, another way of Vince reminding himself how irresistible he was made his head swim wit rage so bright that it eclipsed all other concious thought. Without really knowing what he was doing, he raised his fist, drawing his elbow back.

* * *

**So there you go…..Please review! My first slash writing ever so I would appreciate the feedback**


	20. Chapter 20

**Lady Eros - so glad youre still reading! Thanks for the review. Also, thanks to Chrissy-Kookla and Suzie. **

**And so at last, the end is near. Only one more chapter to go. Hopefully loose ends should start to be tied up soon (And _I know_ there is still the whole 'Vince never saved Howard's life' thing - don't worry! It will all be resolved)**

**I do not own the Mighty Boosh but the legend of Amyntas & Ornis is mine...for what it's worth**

* * *

Naboo walked back downstairs from the flat, thinking they would have probably made up by now, to find Vince cowering on his knees, his shirt unbuttoned with Howard seconds away from punching him,

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Go on Howard, hit me" Vince challenged, with a bravado that he didn't really feel, "If it'll make you feel like the big man just hit me," He squared his chin and closed his eyes in readiness for the blow. After it didn't come, he risked opening one eye. Howard had his head in his hands, sobbing silently. Naboo put his hand on Howard's shoulder – quite a stretch for the tiny Shaman,

"I think you and me need to talk,"

Vince had been down in the shop, pretending to read a comic but really trying to earwig, for the last hour and a half. He could hear the soft rumble of voices overhead but couldn't pick out any individual words. Desperate to know what they were saying, he crept up the stairs.

Vince tip-toed up to the door and leant his ear to the crack, thankful that everyone had ignored Howard's 'shut the doors, it'll save on the heating bills' rule, as usual. He could hear Howard's almost tearful voice, and wanted to run in to comfort him,

"So it was my fault, that he was ill?"

"No, it wasn't anyone's fault,"

"Then why did it happen?"

There was a long pause. Naboo seemed to be at a loss for words,

"I can't really explain. The curse was dreamt up back in the mists of time by the early shamen and the translations don't really work in English. I could probably explain it in Xooberish…."

"Oh Xooberish," Howard muttered petulantly, obviously having still not forgiven the entire race for having been kept as a slave and nearly being frazzled to a crisp "The language that has forty seven words for 'sand',"

"Well, the nearest I can get is to tell you of an ancient Greek legend I found when I was researching it," he said, slipping a fragile-looking, yellowed scroll from under the mysterious Quilyan cube, that he had resorted to using as a paperweight for the pile of papers he had collected on the table " It's about Amyntas and Ornis: as children, Amyntas stopped Ornis from stepping on a poisonous snake. After this they were the best of friends and grew up together, their lives intertwined, barely spending a waking moment without each other. Then just before Ornis's eighteenth birthday, she was riding in a chariot when her scarf became entangled in the wheel. She would have been strangled or dragged under the wheels if it wasn't for Amyntas's quick thinking in cutting the scarf with his knife. However, she never seemed to recover from it, rather the opposite was true – she began wasting away with illness. Her parents called the best doctors from Athens to visit her but they were unable to help. She was close to death, and Amyntas took her for a walk by the river. She held onto his arm because she was too weak to walk on her own but after a moment, fainted clean away and slipped into the river. The demons of Hades swam up and tried to drag her away to the Underworld but Amyntas jumped in after her, fought the demons off and dragged her to the shore. After that, she recovered from her sickness and they got married,"

"So what does that mean, in terms of me and Vince?"

"Well, you saved his life when you were eleven and he was nine - "

"He was looking at his tie," Howard murmured, clearly in a world of many years ago; the memory of how his heart had felt like it stopped as he pulled his friend out of the way of that car was so clear that he could almost feel the thin cotton of Vince's school shirt in his fist.

"Yes, and that bound you together as best friends. Then when you got the rogue Jazz cell out of his body that was the second time. Which meant that being around you was killing him,"

"But when I saved his life on the roof…?"

There was another awkward pause – Naboo steepled his fingers, obviously trying to think of the most diplomatic way to say something. But he didn't need to – after hearing the legend, to Vince it suddenly all made sense. Quite forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be there, he burst through the door,

"That's why I'm in love with him!" he roared. Naboo took a step back, unused to seeing the normally laid back Shoreditch vampire so enraged.

"Well, yes," he started, his hands raised up defensively.

Vince stared at them both angrily. Gesturing to all the paperwork Naboo had strewn across the table, he shouted again,

"What's the matter – you think I was too thick to understand all of this?"

Naboo shook his head before Vince slumped down at the table, fiddling with the edge of a scroll,

"S'alright, I probably am. But you could've warned me I was going to have to fall in love with him,"

Naboo walked over to him, looking at the downcast young goth, who had picked up the Quilyan box and was rattling it between his fingers,

"Is it so bad?"

Vince's head shot up,

"What – me? In love with _Howard_! This is going to do absolutely nothing for my image,"

"Oh come on, everyone thinks you're bumming him already anyway,"

"No they don't! Besides, I feel like I've been tricked. It's alright for you, you're not the one that's got to have his rapey hands all over you. Reckon they should rename this curse the rohypnol of the Shaman world,"

Howard turned a deep shade of puce, "Now hold on a minute there Sir!"

Naboo and Vince both turned to him, simultaneously ordering, "Shut up Howard" before they both continued discussing him as though he wasn't there.

"I mean, Howard's nice enough, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing, it's just I thought I'd fall in love with someone a bit more trendy. And a woman!"

"The feeling's mutual mister," Howard started up again,

"Shut up Howard!"

"No!" he spat, "No one's asked me how I feel about this whole thing. For one thing Vince, you seem to think that the only problem is that I'm not quite good enough for you, not quite the right 'accessory'," he made quotation marks in the air, "but have you considered the fact that I might not be in love with you? Or do practicalities like that not sink into your glitter-filled marshmallow of a brain?"

"But - "

"But what?" Howard challenged, folding his arms over his chest. Vince looked nervously at Howard, then at Naboo, reluctant to say anything about what had just happened between the two of them in front of the Shaman. Howard sensed this and pushed it a bit further,

"After all, you've said it yourself, you're just like a beach ball. Whereas I am a man of substance. Why on earth would I be interested in you?"

Vince looked like Howard had punched him,

"I think I'd rather go back to the stage where you were killing me. Never seeing you again sounds perfect,"

He slammed the cube down on the table and ran out the room. Howard watched him go but didn't make a move to follow him. Naboo was about to go after him but he glanced down onto the table,

"What's he done?" he gasped, picking up the cube. Howard snapped out of the jazz trance that he seemed to have gone into,

"Oh, Vince was the school rubix cube champion. He can solve any one in two minutes. He doesn't like to tell anyone – reckons it makes him look like a geek. Idiot," with that he stormed dowstairs to the shop

Naboo stared open-mouthed at the cube in his hand. All the coloured squares had been moved round so that each face now became one colour. He had never seen such an object before – he had taken some pretty heavy duty acid in 1979 and had, as a result, missed most of the eighties. Tapping it lightly on the table as he thought, he jumped as it split into pieces, each cube separating from the others. Picking up a piece between finger and thumb, he turned it over in the light. On the reverse, Naboo could make out a fragment of ancient Quilyan runes However, he could hear sobbing coming from Vince's room and Howard smashing something downstairs: this puzzle would have to wait.

"You really are a tit aren't you" said Naboo as he lowered himself down to sit one the floor of the store room next to Howard. Howard was in there ostensibly to do a stock check but really he was hiding from Vince. He was surprised Naboo had come to talk to him even if it was only abuse. He had been under the impression that the Shaman merely tolerated him for Vince's sake. However, he was still too angry to care.

"How'd you figure," he muttered,

"If you'd just listen to Vince – " Naboo started but Howard cut him off with a wave of his hand,

"Oh no sir, Howard Moon is nobody's fool. This'll just be another one of his jokes, like the time he tried to convince me his feet had turned into paint tins,"

"It's not a joke," Naboo insisted, "What Vince is feeling is totally serious. And he won't change his mind either, or drop you like yesterday's platform boot," he assured the Jazz maverick, sensing his next argument. However, Howard was not so easily persuaded,

"Well it's just because of the curse isn't it. Curse being the key word, the thought of being saddled with him for all eternity," he said, although his heart sang at the idea

"Just the curse! Howard you ball bag, Vince was prepared to die just to be with you, to not hurt your feelings. I don't think you'll ever understand the pain he felt every day to be near to you, yet he thought it was worth it. No curse was making him do that, so what's that if it isn't true love?"

"Love!" Howard spat, "Don't talk to me about love. I know love; I've seen its wicked ways before. Love will chew you up and then when it's had the best of you it'll spit you out again like a piece of hubba bubba. I have loved before and vowed never again to be a puppet to its ways"

"Then why did you come back?" Naboo asked. Howard thought for a moment, unusually, at a loss for words. Naboo swept from the room, satisfied.


	21. Chapter 21

**Well here we go then, the last chapter. As usual, I do not own...**

**See you at the end!**

* * *

Vince looked up to see Howard standing in the doorway, hands on hips. He quickly wiped his eyes and sniffed, angry that Howard had seen him like this.

"You look like a racoon," Howard chuckled, although not unkindly.

"It's a new look I've been trying out recently, I think it's going to catch on," Vince mumbled, furiously scrubbing his face with a piece of crumpled tissue. He was surprised when he felt his hands being pulled gently away from his eyes although he quickly turned his head so that Howard couldn't see the mess that was his face.

"I think you're beautiful," Howard said simply.

Vince could feel the tremble of the Jazz maverick's fingers at his wrist. Vince turned his face back, his expression doubtful, not totally sure he had heard correctly. Howard surveyed the younger man's face. His cheeks were blotchy and red, his hair was a mess – testament to Howard's fingers running through it earlier and he had a deep purple hickey on his neck. But Howard didn't see any of that, not really. He saw the look of naked vulnerability on Vince's face, the openness, the trust. He saw the love shining out of his bloodshot eyes. He had never seen this expression on Vince's face before. He had seen attraction, lust flash across his friend's pointy features, albeit never directed at him, but this was more than that. He had seen pale imitations, echoes of this look before. When they were younger, at school and in the early days at the zoo, Vince had looked to him with something approaching admiration but he had not seen it for a long time – it had been replaced with a sly mocking grin that Howard had grown to hate. All that was washed away now though. All their arguments, the hurtful things they had said earlier; all washed away, without the need for apologies or raking over the past.

"Really?" Vince asked, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Howard nodded,

"Oh come on Vince, you know what you are, I mean, just look at you. You could walk into a room, right now, looking like this, and ninety nine percent of the people in there would be desperate to sleep with you in the first five seconds,"

"But I don't care about the ninety nine percent do I? What about the one percent? The jazzy, Northern one percent that is lurking in the corner looking awkward,"

"I think as you saw earlier, that particular one percent finds you pretty damn attractive too. Now stop fishing," Howard teased. However, Vince was not that easily placated,

"You said I was a beach ball, though. And that you were a man of substance?"

"Since when has that bothered either of us?"

"I know, but you're like a meat pie, and I'm like a… lemon meringue….pie" Vince trailed off, he was better with fashion based analogies, "What does that make us?"

"Dinner?" Howard risked, with a tentative smile.

"But what if you go off me? What if I annoy you – I can be pretty annoying sometimes but I don't want you to leave again Howard. I don't think I could take it -" Howard silenced Vince's anxious babble by raising his hand up to his cheek, caressing his lips with the pad of his thumb,

"Vince, I've loved you since I was eleven," Vince's eyes widened but he didn't make a sound, "I was being bullied by that boy from the year above. He had me up against a wall. He was…calling me names. Hitting me – not hard enough to do any real damage, just enough to completely humiliate me. I was just about to cry, I could feel it and then you turned up behind him and shouted at him to fuck off or you'd rough him up. He turned around and saw a short skinny kid, with his socks falling down, standing there with such a fierce look on his face. He started laughing so hard he had to leave us both alone before he pissed himself. The sun was shining on your hair and you looked so glorious and ridiculous all at the same time that I knew then that I would never meet anyone that would measure up to you in that moment. As for changing my mind – look at me," Howard smiled self deprecatingly, gesturing to himself, "When do I ever change? That's you department Sir,"

"But what about Mrs Gideon?" Vince asked wondrously.

"Vince, did you really never wonder why the only women that I ever seemed to find attractive were the sort I had absolutely no chance with, that couldn't even remember my name?"

"Lack of any other sort?" Vince joked acidly, before his face dropped, obviously remembering something else,

"Howard? Why were you always with the 'Don't touch me?" Vince ghosted his fingers up Howard's arm before pulling an 'eek' face and drawing his hands back to demonstrate his point,

"It wasn't that I didn't want you to, it was just…." Howard struggled to find the right words to explain what he meant, "I was worried that if you ever found out about my feelings, and you didn't feel the same way, that you'd feel that I'd taken advantage of you. Like it was under false pretences,"

Vince had a hundred other questions but Howard, sensing that, covered his lips with his.

Hours later they lay in bed together - Vince had insisted that they had immediately pushed their beds together. Vince snuggled into Howard's armpit, his head resting on his chest. Howard shifted awkwardly – he had of course ended up laying on the uncomfortable gap where the beds didn't quite meet. He vowed that in the morning he was going out to buy a new double bed.

"Howard," Vince murmured sleepily, his lips barely moving. Howard pushed Vince's hair from his face so he could hear him more clearly.

"Yes?"

"Up on the roof…" Vince trailed off.

"It was all true, every word. I felt like I had to tell you right then or I would burst. But when I said it, you just looked at me as though I had just confessed to a penchant for eating babies, and, you know me – I'm basically a coward. So I pretended it was a mistake," he finished lamely, feeling ashamed.

In my defence, I did think you were going to kill me….I love you Howard,"

"I know you do, you have to. All because of the curse – that wonderful amazing curse," Howard sighed smugly, tucking his hands behind his head, "I am going to be the worst boyfriend ever; you're going to have to wait on me hand and foot. No more lie ins for you Sir. I'll be the one having the lie ins while you open the shop,"

"No you won't! be" Vince said indignantly, rising to the bait, "Besides, I'm in love with you, I've not had a lobotomy!"

Howard turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around Vince's neck, pulling the full length of Vince's body against his own,

"No, I won't," he murmured against the younger man's lips, "I am your boyfriend though, am I? I mean, this….us?"

Vince smiled, feeling Howard's stubble scratch lightly on his chin, feeling a little silly at what he was about to ask, considering all they had been through, "Howard Moon, will you go out with me?"

In the living room Naboo rolled his eyes at Bollo who turned the volume up another couple notches in an attempt to mask the sounds of giggling and creaking bed springs that were issuing from the bedroom,

"I got a bad feeling about this."

* * *

Two weeks later Naboo called the two of them into the living room for a chat. He was wearing a tie over his robes and his pointed leather dress shoes. Initially Howard looked worried,

"Is everything alright Naboo? Naboolio? We've not been making too much noise have we?"

"Yes, of course you have – you think me and Bollo want to listen to that shit? But it's not that," he paused for effect, "I have the secret of the Curse of Kalashki! I'm just off to the Shaman AGM to present my paper on it,"

Vince and Howard looked at Naboo, then at each other, slightly nonplussed. As far as they were concerned that was over with. They were more concerned with enjoying their life together and trying to solve the problem of the contingency of sock monkeys that had moved into Vince's wardrobe.

"Well for one thing," Naboo continued, unperterbed, "a lot of the curse had been lost in translation, until now, that is. Did you realise that the ancient Quilyan rune for 'Gift' is very similar to the one for the word 'Curse'?"

They still looked unimpressed by his discovery but at least Vince made the effort to sound slightly interested,

"So what are you saying?"

"That somewhere about the 1100 BC, I can't find out where exactly, there was an error in translation. It isn't really the Curse of Kalashki, it's the Gift of Kalashki,"

"Oh yeah, some gift. I nearly lost three per cent hair volume!" Vince scoffed, ruffling his locks with his hand. Howard, however, leaned forward, his pedant's mind racing,

"Why is it a gift?

"I really wish you two would learn Xooberish, it'd be a lot easier to explain. I'll try and translate as best I can for you but there are several words that there are no earth equivalent for," Naboo pulled the remains of the ruined Rubix cube across the table towards him and put on his reading glasses.

"This is ancient Quilyan," he explained, running his hand over the pieces reverently.

"What does it say?"

"It says that once in a while, a very while there are two people destined to be together - "

"Soulmates," breathed Howard, his eyes shining.

"Yes I suppose that is the nearest to explain it in your language. It goes on though. In these….special cases, one of the pair is particularly…flighty - the Quilyan word for them is Kira – and would never realise the fact that they should be together without help. If they were allowed to ignore the love that was laid out in front of them, they would end up deeply regretting it as they set out into the harsh world alone, and would end up damaged and alone,"

Howard folded his arms over his chest and turned to Vince, mock-accusingly,

"I might've known it was your fault,"

Vince slapped him gently on the arm and they smiled a secret smile at each other. Naboo coughed self consciously, feeling as though he was interrupting an intimate moment, and leant over the runes, trying to explain more clearly,

"The other one of the pair is called the Ungharu – the defender," Vince stifled a giggle at Naboo's pronunciation. It sounded almost like the silly voices he sometimes put to make Howard laugh. However, one glance at Naboo's earnest expression silenced him.

"Once the Ungharu realises that the Kira is his 'soulmate', as you put it, the gift is bestowed on him and he gets three obstacles to overcome before the Kira will realise the truth and the Ungharu will be successful in protecting him from the rest of the world,"

"Sounds like a lot of work for the defender," Howard smiled down at Vince, puffed up with pride at being something so important sounding, "What's in it for him?"

He laughed at Vince poked him in the ribs before turning a deep shad of red as he then leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

"Until he has the Kira," Naboo continued pointedly, "The Ungharu will live a half life, a cursed life. He will be nothing more than a shadow, a wraith skirting the edge of society, never being able to join. The Kira will save their life in the one true way, by making his life complete. Until they have the love of the flighty bird, they are never truly alive,"

"Wait!" Howard said, horrified, "I've not been alive all this time?"

Naboo waved his hand non-commitally, feeling frustrated. It really did sound better in Xooberish. Vince just smiled, suddenly smug,

"So that time in monkey 'ell, and with Old Gregg, and the Killeroo…."

Naboo nodded reassuringly,

"And that time with the mutants?"

Naboo reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to Howard to be a red Fisher Price toy, the type that was a bit like a pair of binoculars but not quite. Naboo held it up to his eyes for a moment,

"Yes, it's all here on Howard's record now, you've saved his life eighteen times"

"Now hang on a minute," Howard started but he was stopped by a snigger from Vince,

"I did save his life, only it didn't count because he was just waiting for me to save him with my magic knob - " Howard clamped his hand over Vince's mouth, embarrassed beyond belief.

"Nicely put, you twat. Reduce thousands of years of mythology to a dirty joke. Idiot," Naboo muttered, storming off to find Bollo. He was about to tell them the most important part of all – that the curse hadn't made Vince fall in love with Howard, it just made him realise the truth about his feelings but he just couldn't be bothered, and they seemed happy enough in their ignorance. Howard and Vince didn't even notice him go, they were too busy kissing tenderly, smiling into each other's mouths.

* * *

**So that's that, it's all over. Can't quite believe I've finished it! If you've been following the story please please review and tell me what you think...enough reviews and there may be a fluff laden epilogue. **

**Anyway - thanks so much for reading and for anyone who has reviewed or added me to their faves/alerts. You have kept me going through this epic**

**BM xxx**


	22. Epilogue

So here is the epilogue. hope you have enjoyed the story because now it is really finished. I have really enjoyed writing it and can't quite believe I am about to press the 'completed' button.

Mighty Boosh does not belong to me etc.

* * *

"VINCE!" yelled Howard up the stairs, "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Vince thundered down the stairs, the sound of his platform heels on the wooden steps resonating through the house.

Howard looked him up and down slowly, biting back the words 'are you really wearing that!' deciding that after years and years of experience of Vince's fashions it would only result in an argument.

"Of course this isn't all I'm wearing, silly," Vince smiled, as if reading Howard's mind. "I've got this genius jacket as well" he explains, slipping a tiny cropped sleeveless gilet that looked very much like it was made of bubble wrap over his electric blue vinyl cat suit,

"Well that certainly makes all the difference, far more respectable now. Nothing like a futuristic prostitute at all," Howard bantered, although with a smile on his face, "And what took you so long anyway?"

"Well," purred Vince, pulling Howard toward him "It was something to do with my gorgeous husband keeping me in bed all morning,"

Howard felt colour stain his cheeks but was determined not to let Vince distract him so easily - that was how he always seemed to win an argument,

"Yes, but I've been ready for over an hour,"

"Well I had to do my hair didn't I, not that you'd understand" Vince countered, fluffing up his jet black layers,

"Are you insinuating that my hair needs work Sir? Hair maintenance is an important part of my schedule, I'll have you know," Howard said indignantly, pulling a laminated copy of his daily itinerary out of his pocket and stabbing at it with his finger. Vince smirked,

"We threw that a bit out of line this morning though didn't we. And besides," Vince exclaimed triumphantly, as though he had just remembered something, "I do your hair,"

"No you don't"

"Yes I do! While you're asleep – the Midnight Barber remember?" Vince reminded, making a scissor motion with his fingers.

Howard ran his hand over the back of his neck and silently conceded that over ten years without a haircut was a bit suspicious even for someone with as slow growing hair as his. Over the past couple of years he had noticed a few grey strands creeping in at the temples, ('You've got a bit of snow on the mountain,' Vince had teased. Howard had got offended and called it 'distinguished,' and the argument was somehow settled by Howard chasing Vince around the house and tickling him until he agreed). Vince, on the other hand, did not look like he had aged a day in the past five years – his hair remained the same glossy black and his pale skin was smooth and free of wrinkles. However, if Howard suspected Vince had indulged in the odd bit of botox, he certainly never mentioned it.

"I suppose the real question is, do I look alright?" Howard asked uncertainly, smoothing down the lapels of his brown velvet blazer. His style had changed little over their five year relationship, despite his initial concerns about Vince wanting to change his look once they were together.

_After they had been together a little over a month, he went into the bedroom they still shared in Naboo's flat, to find Vince crying over a shredded pile of beige-ish rags,_

"_Hey, hey, little man, what's the matter?" he asked, instantly panicking that Vince was feeling ill again. Vince offered the rags up to Howard by way of explanation and Howard noted that they were more of a light faun than beige,_

"_It's your shirt," he wailed, burying his face in the fabric. _

"_What happened to it?"_

"_I cut it up," came Vince's muffled voice from behind the tattered shirt._

"_Why, why would you do that?"_

_Vince's watery blue eyes peeped up at him, "Because it's hideous?" _

"_So what's the matter then?" Howard asked, curious more than annoyed. Mere material objects like clothes meant much less to him than Vince, they were just a way of keeping warm and preventing indecent exposure, to him. And the fact that Vince hated his clothes was hardly news so to act shocked would be somewhat hypocritical. He just failed to see why it would provoke this reaction from Vince, _

"_Well," Vince sniffed, "Now it's gone…"_

"_Yes?" Howard prompted,_

"_I realised I was quite liked it after all," this set Vince off all over again and somehow Howard found himself agreeing to go on a shopping expedition with him to buy another one. _

After that, Vince had left his clothes alone, although during the course of the many hours Howard spent traipsing round the shops carrying Vince's bags, a tiny amount of Vince's fashion sense rubbed off on him. He still favoured the autumnal palette but he went so far as to buy himself a pair of jeans and other items that he didn't have to make a special trip to the Jazz Appreciation' Society's clothing depot to find. He even once a jacket from Top Shop, although he had justified it by pointing out that it was made of quite a tweedy fabric and had several pockets.

Vince smiled reassuringly,

"Howard, I never thought I would have to say these words, but I don't think it matters what we look like. After all, once we tell the adoption agency that our childcare arrangements are likely to include a talking gorilla, I don't think they are going to care what gauge corduroy you're wearing, they will either like us or they won't"

Howard still couldn't quite believe that they were planning on adopting. Even after they were married he was still rather sceptical about the concept that it was him; Howard TJ Moon, that had tamed the wayward Mayor of Camden. But Vince had been the one to bring up the subject that it might be time for the two of them to settle down and start a family, and Howard couldn't be happier about the idea. He longed for the day that he might have a son to teach the history of jazz to, or a daughter to buy things like trumpets and bookmarks for. So, together, they had filled in a lot of complicated forms about themselves, Howard reading the questions out to Vince and filling in his answers to save the younger man any embarrassment.

"How long have we been in a relationship?" Howard mused aloud, tapping the pen against his chin,

"Well our first date was on March the 8th so I'd put that," Vince replied, without appearing to think about it, looking up from the collage of his favourite pictures of David Bowie that he was making. Their eyes met and they shared a smile, each confident that they were also sharing a memory.

_Their first date had been an unmitigated disaster. Vince had insisted that Howard go out so he could get ready on his own ("like a proper date," he had whined) and consequently Howard had been sitting in his local for over an hour, nursing the dregs of a warm flat pint as the butterflies steadily multiplied in his stomach. He had just reached the point where he was certain that he had been stood up, that the whole thing had been a rather protracted and elaborate joke on Vince's behalf. Montgomery Phlange's picture stared down dolefully on him as he started folding up his newspaper, getting ready to leave. He heard the door swing open and his head snapped up to see Vince, a vision, in the doorway. Howard swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing up and down nervously as Vince sashayed towards him. He was dressed entirely in black – black glittery boots, black skin-tight vinyl trousers and a black chiffon top that Howard couldn't decide whether it revealed everything or nothing. The only points of colour were a peacock feather inserted into a thin band that ran around his forehead and a slash of scarlet across his lips. That and the bright blue of his eyes. _

"_Sorry I'm late," Vince smiled ruefully, "I was worried you might have already left. I ran all the way here,"_

_Howard rose to kiss his cheek, "I wouldn't have dreamed of it," he lied._

_Vince went and bought a gin and lemonade for himself from the crazy Irish bar man and another pint for Howard. Howard was just wondering where he kept the money in that outfit. Vince sat down opposite him and there was a moment of silence as they both looked at each shyly, suddenly awkward, before both trying to speak at the same time,_

"_You go first," Vince deferred._

"_I was just going to say how nice you looked,"_

"_Thanks," Vince's cheeks pinked a little at the unexpected compliment, "I was going to say that I didn't think you'd want to go to a club or anything tonight so I asked Vector to put us on the guest list for her new photography exhibition,"_

_Howard was so touched he could barely speak._

_However, his gratitude lessened after the bouncer pulled back the velvet rope and allowed them to enter the gallery. It was dimly lit and crowded. A DJ was spinning an anonymous dance track in the corner of the warehouse-like space, and strobes flashed intermittently. Only the presence of some black and white photos on the wall, each illuminated from below with a cheap desk lamp, differentiated this place from the clubs that Howard had tried to avoid. Almost immediately, Vince was dragged away by the artist, calling 'sorry 'oward, back in a minute,' over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd. Howard grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter; it was going to be a long night. _

_He had been gone about half an hour before Howard thought he may as well look round the pictures. They were all black and white close ups of different body parts. Looking at the third picture – a close up of the muscles on a shoulder blade, Howard gasped. He knew that shoulder blade – he would be able to pick it out of a line up of a thousand others. He had spent many a long hour in the middle of the night watching it rise and fall as his owner slept just a few feet away from him, oblivious. He looked back at the other pictures, and forward to the ones he hadn't looked at yet and they were all pictures of Vince, he was certain of that. 'But why wouldn't he tell me? Howard mused, disappointed that Vine hadn't seen fit to share the news with him. _

_After a couple of hours he had looked at all the pictures twice. He had caught a glimpse of Vince a while ago, waving his arms flamboyantly as he held court over a gaggle of adoring women, all excited to meet the star of the show, Howard imagined. However, since then he hadn't seen him, despite the fact that his tiny eyes were constantly scanning the crowd for him. _

"_I've had enough of this," he muttered under his breath, and pushed his way out of the door. It had obviously been raining whilst he had been in there and the deserted street shone like silver and gold in the streetlight. A car sped past and splashed Howard thoroughly, drenching him from head to toe. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to shout obscenities after the car and started trudging resignedly down the road. _

"_Where are you going?" a voice called after him._

_It was Vince, tottering down the road after Howard, as fast as his high heels would allow. _

"_Well there didn't seem much point in hanging around – you had completely forgotten about me," _

_Vince finally caught up with him and held on to his elbow to stop him walking off, _

"_I hadn't forgotten about you, ya bumberclaark. If I had, how'd you think I noticed you were gone so quickly? Vector just kept wanting to introduce me to more and more people. But I was keeping my eye on you the whole time," _

"_Oh great, so you saw me just standing around like a tit then," _

"_M' sorry Howard," _

_The retort Howard was about to make died on his lips like a salted slug. Vince had apologised, straight out. Normally he applied a scattergun approach when apologising, firing so many words and excuses at him, each more ridiculous than the last, that it wasn't until several hours later that Howard realised he had slipped an apology in somewhere between the fact that his hair straighteners had started talking to him and that a heavily bearded goldfish had taken him on an adventure to Venezuela. _

_After that, they'd agreed to go to a little French restaurant they passed, in an attempt to salvage something from the evening. The waiter's eyebrows had shot up into his hairline as Howard squelched across the room and plonked his soggy pork pie hat on the table, water immediately pooling onto the expensive looking table cloth but just handed them their menus with a haughty sniff. _

"_Why didn't you tell me that the pictures were all of you?" _

_Vince grinned bashfully over the top of the menu, his eyes twinkling with pleasure at the fact Howard had noticed, _

"_It was a surprise. A present….for you," _

_For the second time that evening, Howard was at a loss for words. He could safely say, that of the incredibly short list of romantic gestures anyone had ever made for him, this had easily surpassed it. He just smiled at Vince and squeezed his hand tightly across the table. _

_Vince flipped the menu over to look at the back, then turned it upside down, _

"_It's all in French," he hissed "And look at the prices. I don't know what a frites is but for eighteen euros, it better be made of solid gold," _

_Howard ran his eyes over the menu, his conviction at having a romantic meal wavering as he took in the astronomical prices. Vince looked at him beseechingly, _

"_Can we just get some chips and go home?" _

_They had run out of the restaurant, past the open mouthed waiter and laughed the whole way home before going to bed with a large portion of chips to share. _

After that, Howard had worried privately that things weren't going to work out between them, that they were just too different but they made an agreement to just keep things as normal as possible, and that seemed to work astonishingly well. Vince still went out, although a lot less often, and Howard still went to Jazzercize and hung out with Lester Corncrake's head. Occasionally he even went out to clubs with Vince. On these occasions, Vince never seemed to leave his side for too long – he would run off for a dance or to speak to someone he knew but even during these intervals, Howard would feel his eyes flashing back to him every now and then and it didn't seem so bad.

After almost a year of hard work, Vince's cabaret evening really took off and Johnny Rhythm offered him a position as Events Organiser at his club, with a considerable pay rise, although he had needed some persuasion to take it as he was loath to leave Naboo in the lurch, and even more reluctant to spend his days without Howard. In the end it was Naboo who made up his mind by announcing he was closing the shop,

'I only opened it in the first place to keep you two out of trouble and make sure you could afford to pay me rent,' he had explained, looking at them like they were a pair of idiots. "Whoever heard of a Shaman with a second hand shop?" he had laughed, almost more to himself than to either of them.

Howard, with the help of a glowing reference from Naboo, got a job monitoring stationery usage levels at the local council. In the first year he had saved them tens of thousands of pounds. His picture was in the paper – the first time it was in there for positive reasons. As a result of his good work, he received a decent bonus and he and Vince were able to put a deposit down on a place of their own.

Vince seemed to notice that Howard had gone off into a dream world and clicked his fingers in front of his face,

"Oi, Dreamweaver, it's you making us late now. Come on!"

They went out the front door hand in hand, slamming it behind them. They went out the front door hand in hand, slamming it behind them. Neither man thought to question, in a world where the moon talked and they encountered magic on an almost daily basis, why the sun was setting at ten in the morning but it was anyway - the sky a spectacular blaze of oranges and pink. Still gripping each other's hand tightly they walked towards the low burning orb, and towards their future.

FIN


End file.
